


Crowns and Crosshairs

by iridessence



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Cameos, Dungeonpunk AU, Elemental Magic, Elves are Dicks, M/M, Magic, Messy, Slooooooooooooooow burn, So Many Cameos, banshee-elf jongho, drake wooyoung, dryad hongjoong, elf yeosang, elf yunho, hongjoong has the patience of a saint, it gets very messy, mute jongho, seer jongho, seonghwa is lowkey done, someone help them please, sorry yunsangho, sylph san, undine mingi, wooyoung is angry, yunsang are brothers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:22:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 82,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25932052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iridessence/pseuds/iridessence
Summary: Seonghwa comes to his senses at the grisly sight and brings his fist down on a side table, rattling the vase with a pair of carnations standing innocently on it and drawing attention to himself. His eyes narrow as they turn to face him and he looks them each in the eye, unwilling to back away this time. “Someone explain to me what’s going on! Who are you all?Whatare you all?”Silence meets his words, and Seonghwa’s ears thunder with the roar of his own rushing blood as he reaches out to curl an accusatory finger at them. “You aren’t normal. This isn’t normal. Where am I?”Seonghwa knew he should have been wary of his sudden admittance into the college of his dreams, but when he had prepared himself for eccentricity, he hadn't prepared himself forthiskind of eccentricity. And the eccentricity in question wasn't prepared for him either. All he wanted was peace and quiet, but between his rambunctious company and their skeletons in the closet, perhaps he had gotten more than he had bargained for.
Relationships: Choi Jongho/Choi San, Jeong Yunho/Kim Hongjoong, Jung Wooyoung/Song Mingi, Kang Yeosang/Park Seonghwa
Comments: 44
Kudos: 95





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have come from the deep, dark prison of writer's block with a mess of an idea haphazardly glued together into some kind of strange plot. In other words, I have no clue what's going on, but don't we all?  
> My last two fics have been skz, but this one just screamed ateez at me, so this will be my first official ateez fic! I'm excited to see where this goes, and I do hope you'll journey with me~  
> Without further ado, let's dive headfirst into this mess and hope we can swim.

The summers of Scoiltgleann had always been fraught with thunderstorms, dark and resonant over the verdant plains. One might ask how Seonghwa could’ve possibly known, being a mere fledgling to the unpredictable weather patterns of the peculiar Irish county, and the simplest response was that he didn’t. 

What he _did_ know was that he was in desperate need of a tow truck, and there wasn’t any sign of civilization for miles. The misfortune of having his decrepit hatchback thrown off-kilter from a graceless encounter with a pothole just had to befall him. Now here he was, stranded on the roadside beneath a turbulent sky, battered by the furious rain, with a busted tire, and no reception. Heaven forbid there would be wireless internet either. 

After trying and failing to make another emergency call, Seonghwa tosses his phone onto the front passenger seat with a harrowed sigh that grated his throat like gravel. He stares out the rain-blurred window that distorted the rolling greenery into splashes of muted colour before tiredly resting his head against the glass and allowing his eyes to slide shut as his thoughts run rampant, drifting further away from solutions to his current predicament.

When he had received his full scholarship to Greenwich College, the institute that he would have only dreamed of attending, he naturally pounced on the opportunity. It was the development that made the arduous hours of hammering English into his brain and working himself to the bone worthwhile. He could finally strive to stand at the scientific vanguard alongside his most respected peers and professors in the facility that was recognized unequivocally as the forefront of biotechnology. 

He hadn't taken into account the fact that his dream college was in the middle of _nowhere_. Scoiltgleann was a marginal county in itself, barely on the precipice of existence, and Greenwich… Well, Greenwich was largely a mystery. Everyone knew of it, but its acceptance rates were ludicrously slim. Its only reputable surety was the consistent and unrelenting output of futuristic research and cutting-edge technological breakthroughs. Greenwich was easily the enigma and envy of any science enthusiast worth their salt. And Seonghwa had somehow landed not only an acceptance, but a scholarship that covered nearly all his expenses. All he had to do was purchase a plane ticket.

Naturally, his foster parents had been ecstatic for his achievement, but Seonghwa couldn’t fully erase the wariness from his skin. It was almost too good to be true. Seonghwa was no cynic, but even he had to admit that receiving a letter from his grandfather mere days after his acceptance letter had arrived was a bizarre sequence of events. He knew nothing about the man except that he existed, and never once had he shown any interest in Seonghwa before now. The sudden change of heart was at least slightly suspicious. It was a simple, handwritten letter from a Scoiltgleann address congratulating him on his acceptance and detailing that he could gladly ask for any form of help if he needed it. It was signed with a graceful flourish by S. Kal. Presumably his grandfather, not that he knew.

His parents thought nothing of it, and his older brother had griped about his serendipitous set of circumstances for the following days. Seonghwa loved him, he really did, but at times he wanted to whack him over the head with a stacked, heavy-duty binder. It wasn’t right of them to be so carefree, in his humble opinion. He was more than grateful for the support, but sometimes he couldn’t help but feel like the good news should be taken with prudence. Nevertheless, he was eventually convinced by his foster family to book himself a ticket to Ireland to attend the prestigious mystery-school. He had even allotted a time to visit his grandfather upon his arrival for the sake of courtesy, not that it mattered at this point. 

Seonghwa jumps in his seat as sharp taps against his window snap him out of his thoughts, and whirls around to find himself staring at the blurred face of a stranger. He frowns, hand scrambling for his phone. His eyes narrow, but the curtains of water that bathe the glass wash away any hope of clear sight for Seonghwa. He draws in a slow, nervous breath, fingers curling hesitantly over the handle of his door. 

“Hello? Can you hear me? Are you all right?” The heavily accented voice cuts through the incessant pounding of the rain, and Seonghwa breathes out a sigh. What was the worst that could happen? He was stuck here, and maybe the stranger was his key to getting someplace warm and preferably dry so he could formulate a plan to get his tire replaced at the nearest autobody. He opens the door and steps out of the car. 

To his surprise, he’s not immediately drenched from head to toe by the rain. The stranger had kindly held an umbrella over his head, keeping his hair dry at the very least. It didn't take much time for the wind to whip rainwater against his button up shirt, saturating it enough to plaster it to his skin. "I'm all right," he assures wryly, stretching out a soaked arm. "Just...wet." He glances back at his car with a sigh. "And stuck here. I don't suppose you have a spare tire on you?" He turns back to take a good look at the stranger.

"Unfortunately I can't say I do," the stranger replies amusedly. "But I do have a car. I can take you to your destination and then we can call someone to get your tire fixed?" 

Seonghwa looks him up and down. The man was shorter than he was, with light brown hair that fell to the nape of his neck, friendly eyes, and a benign smile. A pair of glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, and he was dwarfed by his oversized turtleneck. He seemed around Seonghwa's age, give or take a year, which was enough evidence for Seonghwa to assure himself that there really were inhabitants in this sparsely populated county. Something about his demeanour sets Seonghwa a little more at ease, and after a few moments he nods. "If you don't mind."

"Not at all." The stranger gestures for the white sedan parked a small ways behind him. "Getting stuck outside during a squall in Scoiltgleann is the last thing you want, believe me." Seonghwa hesitates as the stranger heads for the car, and rain drips down his neatly combed hair, making him wince. The stranger glances back at him, and after a moment's hesitation, he follows just a few steps behind him. The stranger laughs and pulls out a key to unlock the doors of the sedan. "Make yourself comfortable."

"Thank you, er…"

"Hongjoong," the stranger provides as he slips into the driver's seat and closes his umbrella, setting it on the back seats. "You can call me Hongjoong." He buckles his seatbelt and fires up the ignition with a huff of amusement. "Silly me, forgetting to introduce myself. It's not often that we get visitors here on the rift." He offers Seonghwa an apologetic smile. 

"No, that's fine!" Seonghwa assures, holding his hands up disarmingly. As Hongjoong turns on the wipers and steps on the gas, he peers out the windshield. "I'm Seonghwa. Thanks for checking in on me. I don't know how long I would've been stuck there." He rests a hand on his knee, absently playing with the seam of his damp trousers. Hongjoong's eye catches the movement and he activates the heaters. Almost immediately Seonghwa relaxes. "And thanks for that."

Hongjoong nods. "Not a problem." He keeps his eyes on the road as he navigates easily around bumps and cracks in the asphalt, and Seonghwa turns to stare at him once more. He seemed so unbothered by the ravaging weather, as though it was a normal occurrence. Seonghwa dreaded the thought of having to drive through the literally blinding sheets of water that fell in ruthless torrents. When Hongjoong catches him staring, he awkwardly turns away to peer out the window. Water rolls down the glass, and Seonghwa rests his case. Hongjoong chuckles. "I hope you don't mind me asking, but what's someone like you doing here?"

The words seem a little too deliberate, but Seonghwa pushes his misgivings away. Hongjoong didn't seem to have any ulterior motive, and his own business wasn't exactly a secret. "I'm...I _was_ heading for Greenwich College—"

This time Hongjoong fully turns to eye him with twinkling curiosity in his eyes. "You're Greenwich?" he interjects, and Seonghwa swears that he almost hears incredulity, but it's well-masked enough for him to brush it off. 

He nods. "I just flew in and rented a car to go straight to the campus, but maybe I should've checked to see if that rental place was a good one…" He purses his lips. "Why do you ask?"

A grin spreads over Hongjoong's lips as he turns back to the open road. "I'm a student there. I suppose that would make you my underclassman." He lowers one hand from the steering wheel as he zooms past the grassy flats with ease. "Congratulations on getting accepted."

Seonghwa finally finds himself cracking a smile. "Thanks. I still don't think it's sunk in properly yet." He rests his hands in his lap and shrugs. "I was lucky to get into my dream college."

"Nonsense," Hongjoong dismisses with a shake of his head. "It's obvious that you're here because you worked hard for it." He smiles. "You shouldn't downplay your achievements. You made it into Greenwich, Seonghwa. Surely that must mean you belong here." Hongjoong turns to stare at him for a brief moment. "Luck has nothing to do with it."

Eerily on cue, the battering rain calms, and Seonghwa finally sees the familiar, long-awaited campus looming in the distance with its domed towers and pillared entrances. A rush of anticipation flows through his veins at the sight as they draw closer, nearing the residence halls, Hongjoong slows down. Seonghwa gapes at the buildings, visibly antiquated, and yet in perfect condition. The wrought iron gates of the four residence halls were graced with the halcyon sigil of the college, embossed onto brass shields that glimmered with streamlets of fresh rain, and Seonghwa doesn't quite believe that he's really, finally here. He whirls around to face Hongjoong, only slightly starry-eyed. "We really get to stay here?"

"Naturally," Hongjoong replies, amusement dancing in his voice. "You _are_ a student here after all. For now you can come with me, but the residence assistant will tell you your assigned house later." Hongjoong parks his car outside the walls of the smallest, easternmost hall, that seemed more like a large house than anything else. He grabs his umbrella, opening it and padding over to Seonghwa's door. Hongjoong smiles down at him. "Come along now, we need to get someone to retrieve your car."

"Right." Seonghwa dusts himself off absently and stands, following Hongjoong to the twisted iron gate. Hongjoong pushes it open and strides through onto the stone pathway towards the building. Seonghwa follows, soaking everything in with wide eyes. 

Hongjoong glances back at him. "Each house is open every day from six to ten. After that, the gates and doors are locked, so take care to not get shut out." He pushes open the oak double doors and pads into the hall, folding his umbrella and hanging it on a row of hooks lining the wall. “You’ll be living, studying, and doing extracurricular activities with your housemates, so trying to get along is recommended.”

Seonghwa barely listens, too distracted by the polished wooden floor that led to a large parlour, scattered with leather chairs and chesterfields, stacked at the walls with stained, wooden bookshelves, filled to the brim with colourful, leatherbound titles. An elegantly carved coffee table bears a pewter tea set and three hefty candles, each with their own degree of wear, and the stale fragrance of old earl grey hangs in the air alongside the biting sweetness of pine. The arched windows surrounding the area bathe the parlour in a sickly grey light, dancing with a cloying undulation between the pattering drops of rain.

It’s only then that Seonghwa notices a willowy, young man perched on one of the cushioned windowsills among a small hoard of damask pillows, with his elbow locked around a plush animal, and a pair of what appeared to be moderately large, glass marbles grating against each other in his hand. Almost immediately after his eyes fall on him, the man turns to stare back, and something in his sharp, jet-black gaze catches Seonghwa off-guard. He instinctively falters back, his defence system urging him to bolt as the man just scrutinizes him with a stony expression that seemed to close the walls in on him. The marbles in the man’s hand grind to a halt with a weak keen as he clenches them in a loose fist. 

Seonghwa jumps as a hand settles on his shoulder, and his head whips around as he stares at Hongjoong wide-eyed, his heart palpitating in his throat. He raises a hand to his chest and grips his shirt, swallowing back a thick glob of saliva in his throat. He hadn’t even realized how tense he was, nor did he know why he was so tense to begin with. Hongjoong offers him a smile, and he weakly returns it as though he wasn’t currently petrified. He wonders if following Hongjoong had been a mistake.

“San, this is Seonghwa. Seonghwa, San,” Hongjoong introduces, with that seemingly ever-present amusement in his voice. “Seonghwa is our fresh blood. He was stranded in the storm on his way to Greenwich.” As Hongjoong gestures towards San, Seonghwa tentatively looks back at him, dearly hoping that he wasn’t trying to murder him with his eyes. 

“Stranded? In _this_ storm? Are you okay?” 

To Seonghwa’s surprise, San bounds off the windowsill with alacrity, and pockets his marbles as he darts over to them, looking him up and down with a bright-eyed concern. San shakes his head rapidly and frowns. “Wait here, let me get you a towel,” he insists. He runs through the entrance hall and up the staircase before Seonghwa even has a chance to so much as breathe in response. He’s left staring at the empty staircase, at a loss for words. 

He jumps again as Hongjoong’s fingers curl over his shoulder once more. He _really_ needed to stop doing that.

“Just making sure you’re still with us,” Hongjoong explains cheerfully, as though he had both heard and understood the rapid-fire thoughts that torpedoed through Seonghwa’s brain. “Don’t mind San, he sometimes moves faster than his brain can follow, but he means well.” Hongjoong glances up the staircase before subtly guiding Seonghwa towards the past the parlour to the living room. “I’m just a tad surprised that he hasn’t already—”

_“Fresh blood’s here!”_

The resounding cry somehow manages to echo in every crack and crevice of the residence hall, and Seonghwa winces, but Hongjoong only breathes out an amused huff. “Never mind. There it is.”

As Seonghwa sits down on one of the couches, Hongjoong pads over to the fireplace and tosses a few scraps of kindling onto the wood remnants before grabbing a matchbox from the mantel and dropping a flame behind the grill. As the kindling catches light and grows bigger, the warmth reaches Seonghwa, leaving him feeling rather damp and uncomfortable, but even he had to admit that it was preferable to being saturated from head to toe. At least he’d eventually dry off this way. 

Hongjoong sets the matchbox back beside the clock on the mantel, and turns around just as San hurtles into the room, followed by two unfamiliar faces, one of a tall man with a half-eaten bag of snacks in his hand, who seemed far too excited for someone who had just been told that there was fresh blood around, and the other understandably looking like he would rather be literally anywhere else. Seonghwa would have almost been offended if he wasn’t so impressed by the sheer suffering imprinted onto the second man’s eyes. Somehow Seonghwa understood that being dragged around by overly exuberant people was fairly commonplace around here. 

“A guest?” The taller of the pair asks as San happily passes Seonghwa a fluffy, white towel. It may have been the softest thing that Seonghwa had touched in the last five years, and he may have spent slightly too long just rubbing his hands over it, but when he realizes that he’s currently being watched by four people who were essentially strangers to him, his eartips flush and he makes a show of hiding them by drying his hair with the towel.

“Sort of,” he begins before drifting off.

“He’s a new student!” San fills in eagerly, hopping to a seat beside him and fortunately leaving a generous amount of space between them. “Hongjoong said he found him stranded on the way here!”

At the explanation, the taller man shakes his head sympathetically. “Oh, those storms are rough. And they happen pretty often, so carrying an umbrella with you is a must!” A wide grin spreads over his face as he flicks his brown fringe out of his eyes. “If you haven’t brought one, I feel really bad for you.” He laughs at the unamused look in Seonghwa’s eyes, and holds up a placating hand. “Don’t worry, we have extras. I’m Yunho, by the way, and this is my little brother Yeosang.” He grabs the second man’s arm and tugs him close in an amicable side hug.

Despite his first impression of Yeosang being quite cold, Seonghwa catches the slight curve of Yeosang’s lips as he allows Yunho to squeeze him against his side for a few moments before releasing him. Yeosang turns his gaze onto Seonghwa, and Seonghwa meets his eyes firmly. After a few moments of excruciating silence, with Hongjoong feeding the crackling fire and Yunho looking expectantly between him and Yeosang, the clacking sound of San’s marbles ricochets through the room. Seonghwa glances at San, and Yeosang clears his throat.

“Yes… I’m Yeosang. A pleasure to meet you.” The mildness of his voice is almost enough to distract Seonghwa from the overly formal greeting, but before he can respond, Yeosang nods and backs out of the room. "...if that's all, then I'll excuse myself." And with that, he's gone. 

Seonghwa is left with an unspoken response on his lips for the second time in the last five minutes, and he's beginning to wonder if no one in this house could hold a conversation without disappearing halfway through. 

Yunho offers a shrug and an apologetic smile, eyebrows crinkling towards the centre of his forehead as he follows Yeosang with his eyes. He glances back at Seonghwa. "He'll warm up to you eventually. He's not the best with new people."

"That's fine," Seonghwa sighs, patting off his shoulder with the towel. The wind had blown the brunt of the rain onto it, and so it was still plastered to his skin. The dark discolorations of his birthmark stood out in purplish blotches under the blue shirt, and he peels the fabric away from his skin self-consciously. "I don't even know which house I'm assigned to, so maybe he won't have to see me often anyway. I just have to somehow get my car off the freeway—"

He jumps for the umpteenth time as the double doors practically slam open, and leaps to his feet, wide-eyed. "What—" He stares blankly at the three other occupants of the room, none of them even blinking at the outrageously loud entrance, and he rakes his fingers through his hair with a rough groan. "Is it always like this?"

"Oh, that's probably Wooyoung—" San begins, just as a head of black hair pops from the corner of the living room entrance.

"Hey! Guys, you'll never believe what I just found," the newcomer interrupts rather loudly, lips pulled into a wide grin. He gestures for them to follow him with an eager hand, and naturally, Yunho and San sidle over to him curiously. When Seonghwa searches for Hongjoong, he finds the man still prodding at the firewood with a poker, almost as though entranced by the dancing flames. 

He clears his throat. "Hongjoong?"

"Hm?" Hongjoong glances over at him, and his eyes widen ever so slightly as he realizes that they're the only two in the room. Quickly, he straightens up and sets the poker aside, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose with a hand and briskly stepping past Seonghwa. "Let's go see what mischief these saplings have gotten up to this time," he suggests, and Seonghwa knows that any complaint he could've had probably wouldn't be heeded at the moment, so with a resigned sigh, he follows. 

His eyes widen as Wooyoung stands by the door, laughing, and very clearly pointing at a shockingly familiar hatchback pulled up beside Hongjoong's sedan outside of the gates, tire fully repaired. He gapes, and looks away momentarily before turning back to stare at it again to ensure that he wasn't hallucinating, and that this man had somehow found his car and _stolen_ it. His eyes darken and he takes a step towards the trio by the door. "Where did you find that..?" He asks abruptly, slightly harsher than intended. 

"I found it on the roadside, and it was clearly abandoned, so I don't see why it should be a prob—" Wooyoung squints at him and cocks an eyebrow. "I've never seen you before. Who are you?" He slips past Yunho and San to meet Seonghwa's eyes, shoulders squared and gaze wary. 

"I'm Seonghwa," Seonghwa bites back, pulling his wallet from his back pocket and flipping it open to pull out a paper which he waves under the Wooyoung's nose. "And you just took my car." His brow furrows. "You don't just joyride any car you find on the roadside! How did you even get inside? I locked the doors!"

Wooyoung holds his arms up defensively. "Hey, you're the one who left it. And I found it. If you're so worried about the stuff inside, I couldn't care less about it, okay? I didn't break in, and I even fixed and realigned your tires. If anything you should be grateful to me." He crosses his arms over his chest and stares Seonghwa down. "No need to be so uptight, I'll give you your car back if you want."

Indignation bubbles in Seonghwa's throat at the utter nerve of this man, but he fights it down. His shoulders slump and a rough sigh leaves his lips. "Fine. Thank you," he mutters. He meets Wooyoung's eyes, taking in his sharp features, full lips, and the beauty mark under his left eye. He crosses his arms over his chest. "But I still want to know how you got my car here if you didn't break in."

A distinctly sharp laugh enters his ears and he turns around to find Hongjoong clapping his hands together. "Wooyoung, you know you can't just take everything that you find around here. You should apologize to him," he scolds, voice a fraction louder than normal. Seonghwa stares blankly at Hongjoong, but turns back to Wooyoung when an irritated sigh leaves the man's disdainfully curled lips.

"Fine, sorry for taking your car. But in my defence, you definitely just left it there. Someone else could've taken it. You're lucky I'm nice, but not everyone is, so don't be daft next time." 

Seonghwa bristles, but before he can come up with a retort, a thin switch swiftly knocks Wooyoung's head. The man winces, throwing a glare towards Hongjoong, who just slips the branch up the sleeve of his sweater, unperturbed. As Wooyoung rubs the back of his head, Seonghwa just stares, because who on God's green earth kept a stick up their sleeves?

Hongjoong eyes Wooyoung with disapproval and shakes his head. "Evidently you've missed the point of an apology," he reprimands. 

"I already said sorry, and I was nice enough to give him advice for next time, what more do you want?" Wooyoung snaps before storming past Hongjoong and up the stairs. After a moment, San darts up after him. 

Hongjoong glances at their retreating backs and lets out a longsuffering sigh, turning back to Seonghwa with a rueful smile. "All's well that ends well, I suppose," he remarks, glancing out the door at the car. "Wooyoung might be brash, but he's honest. If he says that your belongings are untouched, then rest assured that they are." Hongjoong offers him an umbrella. "If you want, we can speak with the RA now and get you settled in your proper house."

"I'll help you move your things in if you need," Yunho offers, and Seonghwa turns back to stare at the taller man as though only just realizing he was there. He offers him a reassuring smile, figuring it was the least he could do after the disruption he had caused, although if he was being fair, he hadn't asked Wooyoung to somehow drag his car all the way here. 

"Thanks for the offer, but I didn't bring that much. It's just my suitcase and a backpack." Seonghwa takes the umbrella from Hongjoong and steps over to the door, opening it and stepping out into the rain. He glances back at them. "I'll go visit the RA now, but it was nice meeting you guys...mostly." He drifts off and offers Hongjoong and Yunho a wry smile. "And please tell San I said thanks for letting me borrow his towel."

Hongjoong smiles and raises a hand in a half-wave. "Of course. Would you like a guide or will you go on your own?"

"I think I'll be good on my own this time," Seonghwa insists as he pads away from the stone awning. He pauses and glances back at the pair watching him. "Oh, and tell Wooyoung that I really do appreciate him fixing my car for me." Even if the man was insufferable, Seonghwa did note that he hadn't asked for any kind of compensation whatsoever. 

"We'll do that too," Yunho assures cheerfully, and Seonghwa chuckles at that. Maybe these people weren't all that bad after all. 

He turns and heads off, umbrella tilted against his shoulder as he heads for his car. He slips into the driver's seat and tosses the umbrella into the back, making a mental note to return it later once the rain quelled somewhat. He buckles himself in and stabs the key impatiently into the ignition, firing up the engine. He pulls himself away from the gate, and to his surprise, the car follows his direction easily despite the less-than-ideal weather. He smiles secretly to himself and drives towards the main faculty building. 

* * *

Seonghwa trudges towards the oaken double doors, ears a healthy shade of pink as he lifts his key and unlocks it. He strides inside and hangs up his umbrella with a sigh before pulling his suitcase after him and shutting the door. He tenses when he hears descending the staircase, and reluctantly turns to find Yeosang staring blankly at him from the middle of the steps. He offers the man a half-hearted wave and an awkward smile. "...I guess this is where I'll be staying now?"

The sound of a door flying open reaches his ears, and he wonders just how this house had managed to stay intact with all the manhandling that it had to have suffered under these brutes. A head of brown hair peeks over the rail and Yunho's familiar smile greets him. "Oh, hey, Seonghwa! You're back!"

Sheepishly, Seonghwa rubs the back of his neck. "Turns out this is my assigned house." He frowns as Yeosang pads the rest of the way down the stairs and strides past him without another word. Grabbing his suitcase, he hefts it up and makes his way towards the stairs, glancing up at Yunho. "I don't suppose you've got a free room up there?"

He blinks as the gangly man hops over the railing and slides down the banister to land smoothly beside him before grabbing his suitcase without a smidgen of effort on his part, flashing him a grin. "Well, it depends on your definition of free." When Seonghwa reaches for his suitcase, an insistence that Yunho needn't carry it for him on his lips, Yunho shakes his head. "Let me take it." And Seonghwa's hand falls to his side because he should have realized a long while back that arguing with almost anyone in this household was futile. 

He deposits his shoes by the door, and follows Yunho up the staircase and through the corridor. Curiously, he peers at the framed images that hung on the walls, from idyllic depictions of deep forests to nameless palaces that overlooked grand waterfalls, to obscure, faceless figures, and ideograms that he had never seen before. He pauses to stare at one of the hangings, a strange design of coiling lines that almost looked like a design one would see on the walls of a tattoo parlour. As he abstractedly scrutinizes it, his fingers rub over his upper arm.

"Seonghwa?" 

Yunho's voice pulls him back to the present, and Seonghwa stares at him as he stands in front of a door, eyeing him expectantly. Seonghwa hurries over to his side as he opens the door. 

To Seonghwa's pleasant surprise, the room was relatively clean, the left side vacant save for a desk and a bed, and the right side sprinkled with books, open notebooks, a few pens, and a collection of plants. A soccer ball rests at the foot of the other bed alongside a set of weights. Whoever resided here thankfully knew how to keep their section of the room relatively clean. A calendar hung on the wall with a few random days crossed out in black marker. Seonghwa eyes it curiously, but keeps his distance. There didn't seem to be any clock within the room, so he makes a mental note to procure one as soon as he could. His circadian rhythm was thoroughly convoluted after his flight.

Yunho sets his suitcase down beside the empty bed with a grin. "We're the smallest house here, so we don't actually have a free room. This is actually the only space we have left. You'll be rooming with Jongho."

"Jongho?" Seonghwa echoes, his gaze drifting back to the organized mess of his roommate's desk. 

"He's not here right now because he's still in a class. He's an honours student, and he's been taking some preliminary courses over the summer before the term begins." A full-bodied shudder runs through Yunho’s body at the thought. "Who would even _think_ of doing schoolwork over a break?" He raises an amused knuckle to his lips, eyes drifting back to Seonghwa. "He's our youngest, so we're going to have to ask you to take good care of him."

"I...okay?" Seonghwa hesitantly tries. If there was anything that he was certain of by now, it was that everyone in this house would be some kind of trouble, but beggars couldn't be choosers, and he couldn't deny that they were good people at the very least. No one had tried to kick him out yet. Keyword, of course, being yet. He sits down on the bed, stretching out his legs, and leaning over to touch his toes with a groan. “I hope he doesn’t mind not having the room to himself any more.”

Yunho pauses at that before shrugging. “...if you ever want to switch rooms, feel free to ask.” He scoots to the door. “Mealtimes are from twelve to one and six to eight in the canteen. There’s also a kitchen downstairs, but no one cooks.” A carefree grin steals over his lips. “Let’s just say Dean O'Kallaghan wasn’t very happy with the repairs we had to do the last time someone tried.” Yunho pauses before snapping his fingers. “Bathrooms are at either end of the corridor, and downstairs by the closet.” He turns to step outside before glancing back with a mischievous glimmer in his eyes. “Most of us don’t bite, so if you need anything just let us know.” 

Seonghwa straightens up and crosses his legs on the bed. “Anything else I should know?”

Yunho pauses mid-step for a fraction too long, but Seonghwa barely gives it any thought. Yunho shrugs again and reaches for the doorknob. “Even though the gates lock at ten, there isn’t really a set curfew. Still, it’s better not to go out late at night. You saw how the weather can get around here.” His knuckles tighten around the handle before he relaxes with a chuckle. “Better safe than sorry.” 

As he closes the door, Seonghwa flops back onto the mattress with a tired sigh and reaches for his phone. He pulls it out and stares at it for a long while, motionless, before tapping on his foster mother’s number. It was fairly late, so surely they would all be awake, and the least he could do is assuage their worries. He holds the phone to his ear as it rings, and frowns when he’s sent to voicemail. He leaves a quick message, assuring his family that he had arrived safely and was settled in before tapping out a quick text to his brother and a few close friends. The phone slips from his grasp as his arm falls to his side and he blinks slowly, the exhaustion of the day finally weighing down on him. In mere minutes sleep overcomes him.

* * *

Seonghwa awakens to a persistent scritching sound, and the unabating tapping of rain. His brow creases as he blinks at the dimly lit ceiling. As he reaches his senses, his eyes widen and he shoots upright far too fast for his exhausted body. A painful crack resounds from his back and he winces, groaning and reaching back to rub the sore spot. 

The scritching stops and Seonghwa’s eyes land on the other occupant of the room as he lays his pen down on the desk and turns around. Seonghwa immediately notices his large eyes and youthful features, cheeks that hadn’t quite lost all their baby fat. He sits up and quickly rubs the sleep from his eyes, running his fingers through his hair in feeble attempts to look presentable. “Oh—” His voice leaves his lips ridden with sleep, rough and about an octave lower than normal. His ears flush. “Sorry— You must be Jongho. I’m Seonghwa.”

Jongho nods, a smile breaking over his features, and Seonghwa couldn’t resist the intrusive thought that this man was quite cute. Seonghwa smiles back awkwardly, his hand drifting up to rub the back of his neck. “I’m your roommate now, so let’s get along.” He pauses before crossing his legs under him and eyeing Jongho curiously. “Do you have any rules? So I don’t cross any lines.” 

As Jongho stares at him wordlessy, Seonghwa fidgets, becoming increasingly uncomfortable, but not daring to break the silence. Finally, Jongho tears off a corner of his notebook page and scribbles something onto it before rising to his feet to press it into Seonghwa’s hand. Seonghwa glances down at the note.

_Prepare yourself for your new life of being known as the less handsome roommate._

“...” Seonghwa’s head snaps up to stare at Jongho, who grins mischievously and darts out of the way when he playfully attacks him with a pillow. Seonghwa tosses the note into the small wastebin beside his desk and rises to his feet with a grin, fingers curling around his pillow again as he advances on Jongho. “They never warned me that my roommate was going to be a brat,” he huffs. 

In turn, Jongho just grins cheekily and dodges him once more as he tries to strike him with the pillow. Seonghwa yelps gracelessly as something rams into his back, knocking him over onto the floor, and his eyes widen as Jongho straddles him, a pillow brandished in his fist. How on earth had he managed to manoeuvre so quickly was only the second thought in Seonghwa’s mind. The first thought was that he was about to be pummelled into the carpet by an innocently smiling face.

Instinctively he throws up his hands with a laugh. “Okay! I surrender!” 

Jongho lightly hits his shoulder with a smirk before climbing off of him and offering him a sportsmanly hand. Wryly, he accepts it and allows Jongho to help him up. He dusts himself off and picks up his pillow, tossing it onto his bed. Seonghwa glances back, only to find Jongho at his desk again, pen in hand. He tilts his head. “Don’t you think you should enjoy the break before the term begins?” He suggests. “You’ll have to study plenty then anyway.” 

When Jongho glances back at him, Seonghwa frowns, but before he can speak, Jongho shuts his notebook and sets his pen aside with a click. He rises to his feet and pushes his chair in before striding over to the door, glancing back for Seonghwa to follow. And Seonghwa does follow after the curiously untalkative man for better or for worse because he had made his bed, so he may as well lie in it. 

As he leaves the room with Jongho, he notices one of the doors slightly ajar. As they pass by, Seonghwa catches a glimpse of a pale-faced Yeosang exchanging hushed words with Hongjoong. He abruptly looks away and hurries after Jongho when Hongjoong's eyes drift over to meet his. 

The house is oddly quiet, and it quickly becomes apparent to Seonghwa that no one was home, save the two that he had caught upstairs. A quick glance at the living room clock alerts him that it was mealtime, and he concludes that the rest of his housemates must be at the canteen. 

He blinks as Jongho slips behind him and herds him towards the door, and he grins at his sudden eagerness. "If I knew you'd be this excited to go out, maybe I should've just let you do your work," he teases.

Jongho rolls his eyes and grabs an umbrella, before slipping into a pair of runners and stepping out the door. Seonghwa pulls on his shoes, chuckling at the ease that washes over his body. Something in his gut told him that he had fortunately landed a good roommate. He pulls on a jacket and pads out after Jongho, nodding in thanks as he holds the umbrella over him. 

Seonghwa finds himself traipsing over the stone pathway to the gate, and then out onto the drenched sidewalk. Puddles form in worn depressions on the stone, and Seonghwa finds himself staring, entranced by the perfect ripples that rolled outwards with each drop of rain against the smooth surface of the puddle. 

A startled noise jumps from his throat as Jongho nudges him with his elbow, and he lifts his eyes to find him watching him curiously. Clearing his throat, Seonghwa steps over the puddle and briskly moves on. In the distance, he catches sight of a few other figures, some hurtling through the rain while others strolled comfortably under the cover of their umbrellas. He chuckles under his breath and offers an affable shrug when Jongho turns to look at him. 

"It's just starting to sink in that I'm really here."

Jongho turns away, and Seonghwa swears that he could see his lips curving into a frown, but before he can ascertain, Jongho flashes him a smile and a nod. He relaxes. 

As they walk in silence, only the sounds of their smattering footsteps and the quick pattering of the rain between them, Seonghwa finally verbalizes the question that had been on his mind for a while now. "Um...don't take this the wrong way, but…" he drifts off hesitantly. When Jongho turns to face him, he finds an expectant look in his eyes, and he sighs, shoulders slumping. "Can you speak?"

Jongho offers him a dry smile and shakes his head. After a few moments, he follows it up with a shrug and Seonghwa gnaws at his inner lip a little guiltily. Jongho nudges him with his elbow and when Seonghwa turns to look at him, he nudges him again with a reassuring look in his eyes. And then he nudges him once more, hard enough to knock him off his balance and nearly send him sprawling in the rain. He stumbles and when he catches his balance he whirls around to glare at Jongho, only to find a cheeky grin plastered on his face.

Seonghwa decides to nudge him back, and Jongho's lips part as he grins, as though he was laughing. Seonghwa smiles and shakes his head in mock-distress. "Yunho told me you were an honours student, but you're just a troublemaker, aren't you?" He huffs. Jongho offers only a lighthearted shrug and a teasing look as he prances forward, leaving Seonghwa scrambling after him lest he should be drenched in the rain yet again. 

In mere minutes, he finds himself a small distance away from the main building in front of a pair of glass doors. As he steps towards them, the doors slide open, and he enters the facility. He glances back at Jongho, only to find the man staring at him once again, umbrella open and grazing the pavement. He blinks. "Jongho?"

As though snapped from a reverie, Jongho shakes his head slightly, and quickly shuts the umbrella, hurrying through the doors and hanging it on an empty hook. He slips past the lobby and enters another set of sliding doors, jerking his neck for Seonghwa to follow. 

With no other option, Seonghwa does follow and immediately a warm wind blows over him and the muted chaos of friendly banter and idle chatter drift into his ears. As he stands beside Jongho, his eyes widen at the sight of all the students milling around the canteen with their trays of food, all too caught up in their own engagements to notice any newcomers. He stands stiffly, weight shifting from one hand to another until Jongho grabs his wrist and tugs him towards the food. 

Jongho grabs two trays and passes one down to him. He accepts it gratefully, and moves along the line, helping himself to a few dishes. The variety surprised him; anything he could think of was laid out before him, and even some foreign foods that he had never seen or heard of before. He scrutinizes a dish that looked suspiciously...arachnid, and skirts it with a grimace. Seonghwa decides to stick to more familiar foods for now. There would be plenty of time to experiment with his tastes later. He quickly picks his meal and pads after Jongho, who navigates through the throng of people with a practiced ease. 

Seonghwa, unfortunately, realizes that following him is much easier said than done as he bumps shoulders into multiple people as he slips through with difficulty, garnering some unwanted attention and a few disgruntled looks. Head low and ears burning, he ducks past the onslaught and hurries back to Jongho's side. When Jongho spares him an amused glance, his eyes widen indignantly. "Did you do that on purpose?"

Jongho shrugs nonchalantly and leads him to a table where he catches sight of a few familiar faces alongside some new ones. As Jongho slides into the empty seat beside San, Seonghwa takes the last seat and sets his tray down. As he grabs his spoon, he notices the attention on him and blinks owlishly. "...yes?"

Wooyoung rolls his eyes. "You're fresh blood and you don't even have the decency to introduce yourself?"

"Hey, he can sit here if he wants," one of the new faces defends, resting a hand on Wooyoung's arm. The man turns to face him with a slight grin and offers him his hand. "I'm Changbin. Ignore this big grump, he thinks brooding is cool."

Wooyoung elbows Changbin in the ribs with a pointed hiss of "look who's talking," but even Seonghwa realizes that the gesture isn't rough enough to hurt, nor is the look on his eyes particularly angry. Neither San, Jongho, or the other unfamiliar face made any move to stop him anyway, so Seonghwa figures that it was fine, although he was tempted to bring this man down a few notches. In the end, he takes the high road.

"No, he's right. You guys don't know me yet." Seonghwa accepts Changbin's hand and gives it a shake. "I'm Seonghwa. I'm a transfer, and I'll be staying at the Twilight Residence." He glances over at Wooyoung. "And I know we didn't get off on the right foot, but since we'll be living together, let's call a truce?"

"You're Twilight too? Wow, we haven't had anyone new in ages!" Seonghwa turns to face the man who had interrupted, the only one he hadn't met yet. The man grins and reaches over to pat him on the shoulder. "I'm Mingi. I'm also staying there." Mingi turns to look at Wooyoung. "Come on, there's no point in staying angry at him, right? He's with us now."

San nods in agreement and offers Seonghwa a reassuring grin. "Don't worry. Once you get past all the prickles, our Wooyoungie is a real softie. Right Mingi?"

Changbin snorts and hides a laugh behind one hand as Mingi enthusiastically nods in agreement, and Wooyoung looks away in a huff. Upon closer inspection, Seonghwa notices the slight flush of Wooyoung's neck and the flustered tapping of his fingers against the tabletop. He graciously chooses not to mention it, instead turning his attention to Jongho, who had yet to interact with any of the others. 

His lips purse into a thin line when he finds Jongho smirking at him, and huffs when he pokes his arm with the butt end of his fork. "I should've known you'd just watch me suffer," he huffs, and Jongho just offers him a sweet, crinkle-eyed grin. Seonghwa silently vows to develop resistance to Jongho's cuteness eventually. Perhaps not right now, but eventually. 

"Not gonna lie, I'm a bit envious that you got into Twilight," Changbin suddenly pipes up. When Seonghwa turns a puzzled gaze onto him, he just chuckles and waves a dismissive hand. "There's only eight spots, but they haven't had any new students for a while. Everyone's normally put in the Sunrise, Daylight, or Midnight residences that have a few dozen people each" He jerks a thumb at his chest. "I'm in Midnight. But everyone knows that Twilight is basically the height of luxury around here."

Seonghwa's eyes widen as the words spark curiosity in his chest. "Really? Is there some kind of criteria for housing placement or something?" 

As Changbin opens his mouth to respond, Wooyoung shoots him a sharp look, and San fidgets surreptitiously with his marbles. Mingi, on the other hand, appeared just as confused as Seonghwa felt. Changbin clears his throat and shrugs. "Well...not necessarily criteria, I suppose. Dean O'Kallaghan is the one who decides which students get put in the Twilight residence. Everyone else is sorted by the RA."

"Maybe I just got lucky," Seonghwa decides, and fortunately Changbin accepts the response. He digs into his food as the others return to their banter, barely paying attention to them since his stomach finally realized that it had not eaten a single bite since he had left the airplane. He looks around the canteen to see if he could spot any other familiar faces. He washes down his food with a sip of water and glances back at the others. "Has Yunho eaten already?"

He hadn't seen Yunho in the house or the canteen, and the clock alerted him that there wouldn't be much time left for dinner anyway, but he was allowed to be concerned about the eating habits of his new friends!

His eyes land on Mingi as he shrugs absently. "Probably. If he's not here and he's not at the house, then he's probably at the range."

"Range?" Seonghwa echoes. 

"Archery range!" San pipes in cheerfully. "He loves practicing. Yeosang and Hongjoong have scolded him for going shooting instead of studying more than once."

"Like you're one to talk," Wooyoung teases, reaching out to pinch San's cheek. In turn, San playfully nips at Wooyoung's fingers. Wooyoung hesitates before turning to face Seonghwa. "Why're you looking for him?"

"Just to make sure he's eaten. I know too many people that forget to feed themselves, and it never turns out well. He's been nice to me, so I'd hate for him to accidentally starve himself." 

Seonghwa notes the way Wooyoung catches Jongho's eye, and the pair share an inscrutable look before Wooyoung meets his gaze again. "How...perceptive," he responds colourlessly. Seonghwa flatly ignores the lacklustre tone of Wooyoung's voice. 

"If you want, I can take you to the range," Mingi suggests eagerly, and Seonghwa has to smile at the sparkle in his eyes, but he politely shakes his head. 

"Maybe some other time. I'd rather not be outside in this weather." He chuckles. "I don't know how anyone could hit the broad side of a barn in this rain."

Mingi seems to wilt at that, and Seonghwa almost apologizes for his brusqueness, but he immediately perks up in mere seconds. "Well, the rain isn't for everyone!" He grins. "Especially not for this guy, he _hates_ getting wet. He's like a cat!" Mingi reaches over to shake Wooyoung's shoulder cheerfully, and Seonghwa waits for Wooyoung to attempt to bite Mingi's hand off at the wrist, but to his surprise he only shrugs noncommittally and looks away again.

"I am _not_ a cat. Besides, if you enjoy being stuck out in the rain, there's either something wrong with you, or you're a fish," Wooyoung mutters. 

San tosses his marbles into the air and catches them skillfully between the gaps in his fingers before grinning at Seonghwa. "Yunho's really good with a bow. Weather like this is probably nothing for him. Sometimes I go with him and watch. You should come sometime."

Seonghwa chuckles and digs his spoon into his rice with a nod. "I might take you up on that."

Dinner passes uneventfully, and Seonghwa leaves his tray and dishes on the racks to be cleaned as he makes his way out of the canteen with his newfound companions. He falls into step beside Mingi and chuckles as he watches San babble excitedly about something or another to Jongho, who quietly watches him with a lopsided smile. 

"They're adorable, aren't they?" He muses, only half towards Mingi. When he turns to face him, Seonghwa blinks at the affronted pout on his lips. 

"I'm adorable too," Mingi insists, and Seonghwa's lips twitch as he resists the urge to laugh at the unexpectedly whiny tone in his rather deep voice. 

Seonghwa reaches upwards to pat Mingi on the head although he was easily a few inches taller than him, and nods placatingly. "Don't worry, you're adorable too." He hadn't realized that Greenwich would come with the responsibility of pleasing these children, but they were endearing, so Seonghwa couldn't rightly complain. 

They part ways with Changbin as he heads towards the Midnight Residence, and continue towards their own house. Seonghwa notices Yunho at the gate as well, and when he notices their presence, he grins and waves animatedly. Seonghwa chuckles and raises his hand to wave back. 

He darts upstairs to fetch his toiletries and occupy the bathroom as soon as he enters the house, eager to take a shower and return to bed. After all, the sooner he relieved himself of his jet lag, the sooner he could accustom himself to the rhythm of his life at Greenwich. 

As warm water batters down on his frame, it seeps away the tension of the day, and he relaxes, running his fingers through his hair and slicking it back, letting the water stream down the lines of his face and rejuvenate him. After a few minutes of basking in the comforting warmth, he quickly washes up and steps out to dry himself off. He stares at his reflection in the mirror, his towel gliding over the blotchy, reddish birthmark that extended over the right side of his neck and much of his shoulder, stopping only at the top of his upper arm. It was an unappealing thing, and he tended to cover it up as much as he could. He frowns and looks elsewhere as he towels off his clumped hair. 

He wraps his towel around his waist and makes quick work of brushing his teeth before padding out of the bathroom with a billow of steam following in his wake. As his hand rests on the doorknob of his room, the door bursts open and Jongho bolts past him. His eyes widen as he hears Jongho's breaths, hoarse and gravelly, as though they were scraping flints in his throat. He quickly heads into the room and throws on a pair of sweatpants and a white shirt before running downstairs after him. 

He rushes into the parlour, but recoils at the sight that meets his eyes, heart hammering in his chest. His hand scrambles for the wall to steady himself as a horrified sound slithers up his throat, threatening to escape his lips. He clamps his free hand over his mouth just as a ghastly wail rips itself from Jongho's lips. 

Seonghwa stares, petrified, as Jongho's skin pales into a sickly greyish hue, and he claws at his face. His entirely white eyes roll in their sockets until they land on Yeosang, who promptly lowers his teacup onto the coffee table and snaps his book shut with a hand. Hongjoong, who had been seated across from him rises to his feet, eyes narrowing at Jongho. Shakily, Jongho reaches towards Yeosang with a sallow hand as another guttural howl tears itself from his body. 

_"Grantz—! Grantz! That from cursed blood is blood accursed! The ends of the universe forever shall not be a refuge. The shroud has been torn—they come! They come and tread on the treacherous crown—"_

Footsteps pound against the floorboards as The house's occupants rush onto the scene just as Jongho's knees buckle, sending him crumpling onto the carpet with another anguished cry. Seonghwa stumbles and catches himself on a side table as San pushes past him and runs to Jongho's side, crouching down beside him and resting a hand on his shoulder as tortured screams wrench themselves out of his trembling body. 

Seonghwa gasps for a breath when he finally realizes that he had quite literally forgotten to breathe, his heart pounding in his neck and a cold fear settling in his chest. A serpent of nausea coils in his stomach and he raises a hand to his mouth again. When he catches Hongjoong taking a step towards him, he instinctively falters back. "What—" His voice cracks as he tries to articulate the words that press on his tongue. 

"Seonghwa, you should probably get some rest," Hongjoong insists firmly, and Seonghwa just backs away once again when he takes another step, shaking his head slowly and trying to register what he had just witnessed. He flinches as another wail tears through the otherwise eerily quiet atmosphere, and his eyes dart back to Jongho, a faint glimmer of concern dancing in his chest, albeit overshadowed by the sheer terror of what had happened. 

His gaze drifts to Yeosang, who had not moved an inch from his seat, his eyes fixed on Jongho's prone form, yet distant and cold. Seonghwa watches blankly as San helps Jongho onto his feet and moves him onto the windowsill, sitting across from him and watching quietly with a dark look in his eyes as Jongho's fingers rake over his face, and indigo tears spill from his sockets. Seonghwa's heart stutters and he retreats another step. Jongho screams. 

He stiffens as a hand curls around his arm and whips around to find himself face to face with Wooyoung's dark eyes. Wooyoung stares at him, stares into him, and he jerks away from his grasp. Wooyoung doesn't make any more movements, but he does motion to the staircase with a jerk of his neck. "You should get to sleep."

"Get to sleep…?" Seonghwa echoes breathily. "Get to sleep? He shakes his head so abruptly that his neck cracks. "I have a better idea. I'm getting the hell out of here!" He turns to run for the door, belongings be damned. This place wasn't normal. 

"Wait!" The commanding voice pierces through another cry, and Seonghwa stiffly turns to eye Yunho. The seriousness in his eyes halts Seonghwa in his tracks. Yunho meets his gaze squarely, making him shift his weight from one foot to the other in discomfiture, a shiver running down his spine. Yunho shakes his head. "Not in this weather. Not at night."

A gaping, black hole seemed to open in his chest, threatening to swallow him in a single whelming wave as he recalls Yunho's lighthearted advice from the afternoon. He looks from one face to the other, and flinches once again as Mingi steps towards him, the playful demeanour from before nonexistent on his face. Mingi nods toward Yunho. "He's right—the storm today wasn't kind."

In a final, desperate gesture, Seonghwa turns to face Hongjoong, who only nods towards the staircase in a single, firm movement. "Go and rest," he insists. "If you're this keen on leaving, then follow the proper protocols, and leave when the weather is more favourable."

Without any protests able to form on his lips, Seonghwa hangs his head in defeat and turns about face, trudging towards the staircase. In the end, they knew this place better than he did, and they didn't seem to harbour any bad intentions towards him. He didn't have much choice in the matter. As he drags himself up the stairs, still stunned, he winces at Jongho's wordless cries.

Shutting himself in his room, he sits down on his bed, pulling his knees to his chest and staring blankly at the wall. What on earth had he gotten himself into? He knew he should have listened to his gut. He knew his wariness couldn't have been unfounded. His intuition had yet to fail him before, so why should it now? He buries his face in his knees. And yet, the very same intuition sunk deep in his bones, telling him to stay. He shivers. 

He may as well have been sitting there for hours, hands covering his ears, as he waited for Jongho's screams to calm. When it does quiet, a few knocks rattle against the bedroom door. Seonghwa stiffens, eyes widening as the door is pushed open with an ominous creak. 

San pads into the room with Jongho's figure slumped over his back, nary a sound arising from his footsteps. He flips on the lights and Seonghwa winces as the yellow glow burns against his pupils. He uncurls on the bed, observing silently. San carefully deposits Jongho onto his bed, and Seonghwa relaxes slightly at the colour in Jongho's cheeks and the regular rise and fall of his chest. His lips purse before he averts his eyes. "Is...he all right?"

"Hm?" Seonghwa receives a distracted glance from San whose marbles were yet again in his hand. San clacks them nervously as his eyes lower onto Jongho once more, a weak smile on his lips. "Yeah, yeah, he's fine. He'll be okay." San meets Seonghwa's eyes for a brief moment before looking away. "He didn't mean to scare you."

"I...I know he didn't," Seonghwa assures, voice a fraction unsteady as his eyes trail from San to Jongho, and back. "I… San, what _was_ that? That wasn't normal, and don't try to come up with some excuses—I _know_ what I saw."

San analyzes him thoughtfully for a few moments of tense silence before his lips part. However, before he can speak, a resounding crash shakes the walls, and San’s eyes blow wide. He leaps off the edge of Jongho’s bed and runs out the door. Seonghwa finds himself following in close suit despite his better judgment. A few yells and a dreadful howl-like sound echoes through the corridor as Seonghwa rushes back to the parlour after San. 

His eyes widen and he stops in his tracks as he catches sight of the shattered window, a viscous indigo staining the floorboards and splattering over the leather chesterfield, and a hulking, dark grey beast slavering over Yeosang with blackened lips pulled back to reveal purplish gums in a horrific snarl. 

Yeosang, although trapped against the floor with that same indigo dripping through his sleeve, which had been pinned down by a blood-slicked paw, had jammed a bronze sculpture between the wolf-like creature’s jaws. To Seonghwa’s relief, it didn’t seem as though he was gravely injured. Thick, brown vines had broken through the floorboards of the parlour, tangling the wolf’s legs and coiling tightly over its back to constrain its movement, and even as it writhes in attempts to crush Yeosang, it was held firmly in place.

“That’s enough!” Yunho towers over Yeosang’s crumpled form, his hand raised at the wolf’s head. The creature, nearly his height, stares at him through baleful, citrine eyes.

And as the clock strikes midnight, they flicker. Seonghwa’s eyes widen as Yeosang’s skin seems to grow pale, almost iridescent. Yunho’s ear’s elongate and a dark sigil of sweeping lines appears on his hand. Hongjoong’s skin darkens as thin, vascular lines trace over his body. Patches of gold that almost looked like...scales? ripple over Wooyoung’s face. Mingi was...was he _blue?_ and for a split-second, Seonghwa swears that he could see the bookshelf through San’s frame.

A savage howl rips from the gut of the wolf creature as it thrashes in its ligneous restraints. A glowing symbol of interlocked, arched triangles rises on the wolf’s forehead, and Yunho rests his hand over it. He seems to wince as the wolf ceases to bristle, calms, and loses the glassy edge to its eyes. When Yunho removes his hand, the wolf shrinks, morphs, and falls through its wooden prison to land on Yeosang. Seonghwa stares blankly at the figure of a lithe, young man, unconscious on the indigo-stained floor.

Yeosang winces and grabs his arm as he pulls himself out from under the mess of vines and leaves, dripping a dark indigo in his wake. It doesn’t take long for Seonghwa to realize that that must be _blood_ , that Yeosang was bleeding. He whips around to stare at the others, only to find that they appeared normal. He shakes his head rapidly. That wasn’t important right now. “He’s bleeding! Where’s the first aid kit?” Seonghwa gasps, but his voice is interrupted by Wooyoung’s sudden cry of outrage. 

“This is—!” 

He whirls around as Wooyoung stalks closer to the man in the vines, and almost on cue the mutant plant-growth recedes into the floorboards, giving him access to the body. Wooyoung kneels down beside the man and traces the agglomeration of jagged, black lines on his shoulder blade, past the tatters of his shirt. Wooyoung’s eyes darken and he turns to face them, lips pulled back with unease. “This is...it’s Jeongin. He’s in the same pack as Changbin—”

“You don’t think…” San interjects slowly, his eyes narrowing. 

Mingi crosses his arms over his chest and shakes his head. “It can’t be. I didn’t feel a thing near Changbin. Maybe it was just him.” he points at the unconscious Jeongin. Mingi frowns and shakes his head once more. “I don’t like this. I’m getting a bad feeling. I think we should tell the Dean.”

“The shroud has been torn—” 

Every eye in the room turns to face Yeosang, and a deep frown etches onto Seonghwa’s features at the darkness in his eyes. Yeosang grips his bloody arm as he stumbles onto one of the leather chairs, his gaze fixated on Jeongin’s form. “Jongho was right. It’s not safe here any more.” He winces as his sleeve soaks through with the dark indigo.

Hongjoong grabs a wooden box from the bookshelf and hurries over to Yeosang’s side. “Nonsense. Why would the rift be breached now? This is only a stroke of bad luck.” He flips open the box and draws out a roll of yellowish bandage and a glass jar of some clear salve. Yeosang winces as Hongjoong peels back his ruined sleeve to reveal the deep gashes in his arm, uncovering pink flesh, and oozing blue blood.

Seonghwa comes to his senses at the grisly sight and brings his fist down on a side table, rattling the vase with a pair of carnations standing innocently on it and drawing attention to himself. His eyes narrow as they turn to face him and he looks them each in the eye, unwilling to back away this time. “Someone explain to me what’s going on! Who are you all? _What_ are you all?”

Silence meets his words, and Seonghwa’s ears thunder with the roar of his own rushing blood as he reaches out to curl an accusatory finger at them. “You aren’t normal. This isn’t normal. Where am I?”

As Hongjoong yanks Yeosang’s bandages and ties the ends together, He turns around to meet Seonghwa’s eyes, and Seonghwa catches the flash of green that disappears just as soon as it had come. Hongjoong rises to his feet and strides past them to stand in front of Seonghwa, his gaze searching. Disquiet worms its way into Seonghwa’s skin, but he holds his ground, meeting Hongjoong’s eyes. 

“Rather than asking us who we are, I think the better question is who are _you?"_ Hongjoong responds, his voice unnervingly calm, and a fraction cold. A shiver crawls down Seonghwa’s spine as Hongjoong raises a finger and points it at his chest. “And what is someone like you doing at Greenwich?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, we've come to the end of this terribly pedantic chapter, but I hope it was somewhat enjoyable~  
> Thank you very much for taking the time out of your day to read, dear reader, and I hope you enjoyed it <3  
> I'll see you again in the next chapter, hopefully soon~


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello to all the wonderful readers that decided to join me in the second chapter!  
> First of all, I'd like to say thank you for all the kind comments and the kudos, they really do give that extra boost to write~  
> As much as I will try to update this regularly, that might become difficult because of other schedules and commitments, so I hope you'll bear with me  
> I'm grateful to everyone who considered this worth checking out, and have stayed for this chapter too <3  
> Without further ado, let's get into it

Before the accusatory finger, Seonghwa raises his hands defensively. “I’m a student! I was accepted into Greenwich, and when I was told that I finally got in, I thought that would entail studying and doing _normal_ things that a _normal_ student does!” He gestures vaguely at the rest of them behind Hongjoong. “If I knew things were like _this_ , do you really think that I would come?” He falls silent, breaths heaving from the impassioned outburst. 

“Hongjoong, he’s telling the truth.” 

Seonghwa’s eyebrows ride up on his forehead as his eyes drift past Hongjoong to land on Wooyoung. Wooyoung spares him only a hard glance before looking away. “He doesn’t know anything. I suspected he didn’t, but now I’m sure.”

And to Seonghwa’s surprise, Hongjoong’s hand falls to his side. With a nod, he steps back, finally allowing Seonghwa enough space to breathe without the impending feeling that someone was trying to bore holes into his skull suffusing him. Hongjoong breathes out a sigh and combs his fingers through his hair. “San, alert Dean O'Kallaghan of what happened at once. Wooyoung, go tell Chan that one of his pack is here. Mingi, take care of the pup’s injuries.” Hongjoong’s eyes fall on Yeosang. “And you…” He frowns. “You think about what I said.” 

Hongjoong turns back to Seonghwa and offers him a wary smile. “I’ll go make some tea, and we can talk. We owe each other some answers.” Seonghwa almost bites back that he doesn’t owe them anything, but before his lips can even part, Hongjoong glances back at Yunho. “You follow me. We need to get you something to eat.” 

In preternatural unison, they disappear to complete their respective tasks, all except Mingi, who sidles over to the man on the floor, and Yeosang. Seonghwa frowns, eyes darting from one corner of the room to another. He winces when he surveys the damaged window and shattered glass, skin crawling at the darkening indigo—the _blood_ —that splattered onto the floor and furniture. 

He scans the room once again before darting to the closet and pulling it open, narrowly dodging the broom that falls out with a harsh clatter. He grabs it and pulls out a dustpan before returning to the parlour and silently beginning to sweep up the wreckage of broken glass and floorboard. As he tidies the mess, careful to catch every last fragment of glass lest someone should step on it, he watches Yeosang and Mingi from the corner of his eyes. 

Yeosang picks at the bindings on his arm and pushes himself off of the chair, but Seonghwa abandons his broom and rushes over to press him back down. “Hey, what do you think you’re doing?” he says, his brow creasing. “You just lost a lot of blood. Don’t go jumping around—you’re not going to help anyone if you tire yourself out.” Seonghwa meets Yeosang’s eyes, and finds within them sparks of bewilderment. He had never properly looked at Yeosang, but now he notices a pink blotch close to his eye, similar to the stretch of skin on his own neck and shoulder. He stares for a few moments, but quickly backs away and averts his eyes when he realizes it. 

“I...I guess you’re right,” Yeosang murmurs, and Seonghwa steals another glance at him, only to find his eyes averted this time. 

A laugh echoes behind him, and he faces Mingi as he hovers his hand over Jeongin’s skin. Seonghwa swears he can see the air distort and glow faintly under his hand as slivers of glass carefully pull themselves out of Jeongin’s body, adhering to it. Seonghwa doesn’t mention a word about it. At this point there was little use for that. He’d get his answers soon, if he could trust Hongjoong’s words. Mingi catches him watching and his lips pull into a grin. “It’s been a while since he’s listened to anyone like that.” 

“I listen perfectly fine,” Yeosang retorts, a sharp edge to his naturally soft voice. A huff leaves his lips and he looks away once again. “It’s just that you all rarely have opinions worth hearing.” 

Mingi childishly pokes his tongue out at Yeosang before focusing his attention on the body in front of him once more. Seonghwa raises an eyebrow at the interaction, almost chuckling at the ease of their banter. 

He backs away to the broom once more, and sweeps the pieces of wood and glass debris into the dustpan. He eyes the floor critically to ensure that he hadn’t missed a spot. Once satisfied, Seonghwa approaches Mingi with the dustpan proffered. “Here, I’ll throw the glass out.”

Mingi blinks at the dustpan and holds his hand over it, allowing the glass to fall from his hand into the dustpan. “No need to throw it away,” he assures with a cheery smile. “Hongjoong and Wooyoung will take care of it, so it’s best to leave it.”

With a shrug, Seonghwa leaves the dustpan by the broken window. As he walks past, it occurs to him that, although it was quite visibly still raining, none of the water had entered the parlour. As he glances back to question it, he finds Mingi gone, and only Yeosang remaining on the chesterfield. His lips press shut and he stares out the window, spellbound by the sight of the drops striking the glass, but never truly falling onto the wood. 

“Incoming!” 

Seonghwa yelps and narrowly dodges aside as Mingi hurtles past him with a mop and an impish, gummy grin. He gapes as Mingi cleans off the indigo blood with freakish efficiency, soaking it all into the mop and leaving not a single stain on the floor. Mingi twirls the mop in his hand before plunging it down onto the floor like a flag as he puffs his chest proudly. “Good as new.” 

Amusedly, Seonghwa’s eyes drift over the gaping holes in the wood from where the vines had disappeared. “You sure about that?”

“Close enough,” Mingi pouts. He rests the mop against the chesterfield and lifts Jeongin up in his arms, depositing the young man on the leather to rest. A groan leaves his lips as he fusses in Mingi’s grip, but he soon quiets as he’s laid down. 

The door flies open and San screeches to a halt at the entrance of the parlour. A billow of wind follows in his wake, whipping through his hair and blowing the curtains to the side. San looks between Seonghwa, Yeosang, and Mingi before popping his head out from the parlour. "I've told the Dean!" He calls, a surprisingly strong shout rumbling through the walls. San turns back to them and nods towards Yeosang. "Dean O'Kallaghan told me to let you know he wants to see you tomorrow morning. He would see you tonight, but he has to check the bulwarks…" His gaze shifts and falls on Seonghwa. "And he wants to see you too."

Seonghwa's eyes widen and he jerks a thumb at his chest. "Me?"

San nods and offers him a reassuring smile. The marbles in his hand clack together and he glances down at them. "I don't think it's anything bad. He seemed concerned." 

Why the Dean would be concerned about him as well when nothing had happened to him was beyond Seonghwa, but he was gradually learning that the less he questioned things at the wrong time, the better off he was. Seonghwa's shoulders slump as he nods with resignation. "All right. I'll go with you then." He glances at Yeosang. “I still don’t know the layout of this place. Might as well get it down soon.” 

Yeosang spares him a curt nod, and Seonghwa wonders if he had done something to offend him. Before he can ask, Hongjoong strides back into the parlour with the pewter tea set in his hands, Yunho shuffling behind him with a half-eaten sleeve of cookies in his hands, and another two tucked into the crook of his elbow. When he catches him staring, Yunho reaches into the sleeve and offers him a cookie. Seonghwa raises a hand in polite refusal, and Yunho instead hands the cookie to Mingi, who happily accepts it and shovels it into his mouth. 

Hongjoong neatly sets out teacups for six and delicately pours a fragrant, carmine-hued, rosehip tea into each cup, filling the humid air with a delicate scent of roses, and a distinct bite of mint. Seonghwa watches with intrigue as Hongjoong drizzles small amounts of translucent honey into each cup and stirs it gently into the brew. He offers the first cup to Seonghwa, and then disperses the remainder among Yeosang, Mingi, Yunho, and San before taking the last up for himself. 

Settling down on an empty seat, Hongjoong stirs his tea and takes a careful sip. Seonghwa follows suit, and to his pleasant surprise, it isn't as sweet as he had expected it to be. A faintly tangy flavour permeates through his tongue and the fruity aroma drifts around him before fading off with a refreshing mint. He takes another sip and raises his eyes back to his company, all with varying degrees of discomfort on their faces as they sit in a tense silence, broken only by the occasional glassy clacks of San's marbles.

The crinkling of plastic cuts through their gathering with excruciating volume, and Yunho's cheeks pinken slightly as their eyes shift over to him. "...anyone want a cookie?"

After a few moments of silence, San reaches towards him and Yunho hands him a cookie. Seonghwa shakes his head and turns to stare at Hongjoong. "Can you please tell me what’s going on now?” He sets his teacup down on the table and frowns. “You all clearly don’t act like anything here is out of the ordinary, so that means I’m the only one out of the loop.”

“The thing is…” Hongjoong begins tiredly. 

“What you’re saying is you’re a human?” Mingi’s incredulous voice interrupts, and when Hongjoong turns to stare at him, he barely notices, his eyes wide with genuine astonishment.

Seonghwa’s brow creases. “What’s that supposed to mean? We’re on Earth. We’re...all human here!” He sweeps a hand at them with a frown. “...except for all of you apparently. No offence meant.” 

“None taken,” San reassures with a kind smile, tossing his marbles absently into the air and balancing them precariously on his fingertips before snatching them back into his palm. He tilts his head, curiosity shining in his dark eyes. “But you _do_ admit you’re human, right?”

“As is the norm, yes,” Seonghwa sighs. “To me, you’re all the strange ones.” 

Yunho laughs through a mouthful of cookie and covers his mouth with a hand when Seonghwa turns to stare at him with a raised eyebrow. He swallows and holds up a hand. “No, I’m not making fun of you, promise.” He grins. “Maybe when I get to know you a little better I’ll do that.” Seonghwa chuckles at the sentiment, fractionally relaxing. He retrieves his cup of tea and takes a sip. Yunho regards him for a few moments before speaking once more. “It’s just...that’s not the norm here.” 

“I figured,” Seonghwa begins, but this time it’s Yeosang who interrupts him, the man sitting upright with a wince and setting his teacup down on the small plate in his lap. 

“I don’t think you understand,” Yeosang says, fixing Seonghwa with a sharp look. On closer inspection, Seonghwa sees dark spots under his eyes, and a hollowness to his cheeks. He frowns, almost missing Yeosang’s next words as he wonders if he had been sleeping well. “I’m quite sure you’re the _only_ human here.” 

Seonghwa stares blankly at him for a few moments before rubbing a hand over his ear, his eyebrows knitting. “Come again?”

Before Yeosang can respond, the sound of creaking hinges draws their attention to the door just as Wooyoung strides into the house, sleeves rolled up to his elbows and a smudge of dirt on his cheek. When he notices them staring, he raises an eyebrow. “...What?” When he notices them gathered around the coffee table, his other eyebrow rides up on his forehead as well. “What are you doing?”

“Being interrogated,” Yeosang drawls, and Hongjoong flashes him a sharp look as Wooyoung’s eyes narrow. 

“He meant to say we’re answering Seonghwa’s questions!” Mingi quickly interjects. 

Hongjoong nods in agreement, and gestures for him to join them. “Did you manage to get to Chan?”

Wooyoung slips out of his shoes and stalks to the parlour, rubbing his cheek with the sleeve of his shirt to reveal a thin cut over his skin. “Took a bit of work, but the pup’s staying the night. They can’t leave the Midnight Residence to come get him. Chan isn’t even sure how he got out to begin with, but I think we have a few ideas.” 

Seonghwa spares a glance at Jeongin before turning to face them once again. “Great. Wonderful. Whatever that’s supposed to mean. Now can you tell me what’s going on?”

Wooyoung frowns. “You guys actually _told_ him?”

“I think he deserves to know,” Yunho insists, meeting Wooyoung’s unamused stare firmly. “He already had to see all of this.” He gestures towards the holes in the floor, the devastated window, and the man sleeping on the couch. “It’s going to be a bit difficult to excuse our way out of this one.” 

“Excuse? He’s the one that should be explaining himself to us!” Wooyoung retorts, his gaze flickering over to Seonghwa. “He’s not supposed to be here.” 

Seonghwa sets down his teacup and rises to his feet, a frown spreading over his features. “Why don’t you explain what’s happening to me first, and decide whether I belong here or not later?” He’s about to speak further, but no words leave his lips. Reluctantly, he closes his mouth and looks away. “I’m sorry for disrupting whatever you all had before I came. I just wanted to attend this school because I respected it. That’s all. I had no idea about any of this.” 

“Then that’s the fault of the faculty then, not yours,” Mingi insists, and San nods in agreement. “No matter what, you’re not a threat, so I think we should give you a chance.” 

“I think he should leave.” 

Seonghwa frowns at Yeosang, who doesn’t meet his eyes. Yeosang turns to face the rest of their company, scanning them inscrutably. “He doesn’t belong here, and if what Jongho said is true—”

“Which it most likely is!” Yunho suddenly pipes up. 

“—then he shouldn’t be here. He should get out of here as soon as possible.” Yeosang catches Seonghwa’s eye out of the corner of his gaze and almost immediately averts his eyes. Seonghwa frowns, a bubbling indignation rising in his stomach, but before he can speak, Hongjoong sets down his empty teacup and taps it with a small spoon, drawing attention back to himself.

Hongjoong’s eyes drifts over their faces before settling on Seonghwa. They soften almost apologetically before he turns away. “I agree, but he's in the rift now. I somehow don’t think it’ll be as simple as letting him drive out of the county.”

A morose silence descends on them before Wooyoung sighs roughly and rakes his fingers through his dark hair, brushing his fringe off his forehead. As his hand descends, he slips a silver ring from his finger. His appearance shifts, as though a rippling current passed through his frame, and his familiar look melts away. His fingers rake through wild, blonde hair as he shakes his head, long locks dusting his shoulder blades. His ears elongate and taper off, glimmering with golden piercings, and his skin flushes into a dark red.

He lowers his hand as a patch of gold scales shimmers over the back and raises his head to stare at Seonghwa through golden slit-pupilled eyes. Seonghwa’s eyes widen at the dark scar around his neck and down his left eye, standing more starkly against his rouge skin than the patternless blotches of glimmering scales, or the frilled fins on either of his jaws. Wooyoung cocks a scarred eyebrow at him and snorts. “Don’t look so surprised. You’re the one who wanted to see.” 

Seonghwa draws a sharp intake of breath, goosebumps forming on his skin as he stares, goggle-eyed at Wooyoung, who was very clearly in a form that could not be human. His throat dries as the realization falls on him like bricks that this was happening—this was _really_ happening, and these people weren’t human. He tears his eyes away from Wooyoung to look at the rest of them, stunned. “Are...all of you the same?”

“Gods no,” Wooyoung immediately refutes. “I’m a drake.” His eyes darken as he stares at Yeosang, who pointedly looks away. “The only one here.”

Seonghwa nods absently, barely listening to Wooyoung at this point, as the remainder of them fluctuate before their distinctly non-human forms materialize through their human skins. 

San rolls his marbles over the back of his hand, and pulls his silver ring off his finger in a single, lithe movement. His skin pales and melts into a translucent grey, and his marbles spiral back into his palm. He tilts his head at Seonghwa, his dark hair brushing his shoulders in delicate wisps and dissipating like shadows around the middle of his back. He smiles a crinkle-eyed smile and flicks a finger towards Seonghwa. A flutter of air spirals away from his hand in a delicate curlicue and blows towards him. A warm breeze tickles Seonghwa’s face, and San laughs at his startled expression. “I’m a sylph.” 

“Yeosang, Jongho, and I are elves,” Yunho adds, As he turns to face Yunho, Seonghwa doesn’t miss the contemptuous click of Wooyoung’s tongue. He stares at Yunho, with his elongated ears and silken, rosy hair that fell only to the base of his skull. His skin shone a pearlescent white, but hinted a faint pink, and a reddish birthmark that looked strikingly similar to the mark Seonghwa recalled seeing on the wolf was etched close to his left eye. Perhaps it was his eyes that startled Seonghwa the most: pupilless and silver, flickering in the light like metallic flames as they meet his. 

Yunho picks consciously at the thick, silver band around his neck, and Seonghwa notices that he bears matching ones on his wrists, and his ankles as well. The black symbol that Seonghwa recalls seeing earlier remained present on the back of his left hand. Seonghwa’s lips press into a thin line as he tentatively faces Yeosang. 

Yeosang too possessed the same pupilless, silver eyes and pearlescent skin, although his complexion seemed colder, more bluish, in comparison to Yunho’s. His hair, now an icy, platinum blonde, fell to the nape of his neck in a graceful sweep. Seonghwa’s brow furrows at the sight of his ears, pierced, but also terribly scarred, as though they had been partially sawn off. A reddish scar blooms near Yeosang’s left eye, completely obscuring the area whereupon Seonghwa had seen Yunho’s birthmark. He wonders if Yeosang once had a similar mark. Seonghwa finds himself staring for just a fraction too long. When Yeosang’s eyes meet his, his ears warm and he abruptly looks away.

“I’m a mermaid!” Mingi announces excitedly as Seonghwa’s eyes fall on him. Wooyoung snorts, and Yunho stifles a laugh behind his hand while San pulls at Mingi's jaw fins. Mingi pouts. "Fine, I'm actually an undine." Seonghwa resists the urge to smile at Mingi's antics. According to what he had caught sight of prior, Mingi was indeed blue, from his short, undercut hair, to his paler skin, to the fins of his jaws, to his fingernails. Only his eyes shone a bright, jewel-like yellow, and the string of pearls around his neck a milky white to disrupt the cooling colours. Even through his shock, Seonghwa can’t help but finally succumb to the small tug at his lips to smile at Mingi.

He finally turns to eye Hongjoong, more intrigued after the initial startlement. 

Hongjoong’s hair was more or less the same light brown as it had always been, but longer now, falling just over his shoulders with a few small braids plaited into it. Small, cream-coloured flowers and verdant leaves bloomed from his locks themselves. His skin was darker now, more tanned, and covered from head to presumably toe with markings that resembled wood grain. Delicate blossoms and healthy leaves grow from his arms, hidden under his turtleneck, but peeking out from his sleeves. His ears glint with golden rings, and a pair of matching bands encircle the middle and ring fingers of his left hand. His lips press together and curve upwards as his vivid, green eyes twinkle with some twisted kind of amusement. “And I’m a dryad.” 

Seonghwa rubs his temple with a hand and slumps back in his chair, eyeing them all half-incredulously. He shakes his head slowly, his lips parting. The words die in his throat before even resting on his tongue and he closes his mouth, shaking his head once again. He closes his eyes and lets out a dry laugh. "Is this real? Are you all real? I'm not crazy, am I?"

"Really, if you're talking to yourself, I think that should answer the question just fine," Wooyoung bites back, only to be elbowed sharply in the ribs by San. He winces and pouts slightly. "I was just answering the question!"

Seonghwa stares at them through the gaps in his fingers and shakes his head again. "I...what are people like you… your species? What are your species doing here? Have you always been here? How does no one know you exist?"

They exchange looks, but it's Yeosang that finally breaks the silence as he pulls one knee to his chest and rests his chin on his knee. "You're in Scoiltgleann. We call it the rift for a reason."

Seonghwa recalls Hongjoong mentioning it in passing, and his eyes narrow in puzzlement. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"It has to do with everything!" Mingi interjects, eyes wide. He holds up his index fingers and positions them vertically beside each other. "Scoiltgleann wasn't named after any rift! It's actually right on a transdimensional fault line." 

"A….what?" Seonghwa stares blankly at Mingi.

"A transdimensional fault line," Hongjoong repeats. He folds his hands in his lap and a pair of vines elongate from his fingers, intertwining with each other. "It's exactly what it sounds like. Scoiltgleann rests on a fault in time and space that connects your Earth to our dimension. The rift in particular is where the barriers that separate the two universes are thinnest, and can be crossed under certain circumstances. Additionally, because of the unique conditions of the rift, time here is on an inconsistent wavelength compared to the rest of your world."

Yeosang sighs and tucks a lock of his hair behind his ear, turning to stare at Seonghwa. "At its fundamentals, it's as simple as your grade school science. The dimensional barriers are very strong under normal conditions, but weaken at the fault line. The rift is like a semipermeable membrane, allowing us to pass from our world into yours, and back, if certain requirements are met."

“That’s a gross oversimplification,” Wooyoung mutters under his breath, but Yeosang scathingly ignores him. 

Slowly, Seonghwa nods, clambering to fully comprehend everything that he had been told. Although every question he asked was graciously being answered, they only led to dozens more, and it was terribly late. His gaze darts over to the clock that hangs on the wall, and he frowns. "I think I'm starting to understand...but I have one more question for now."

"Ask away," Yunho chirps with an encouraging smile. 

"I can vaguely understand _how_ you can be here, but that doesn't explain _why_ any of you are here."

The temperature in the room seems to drop instantaneously the moment the words leave his mouth. Seonghwa's brow furrows as Yeosang's eyes grow cold, and he looks away. Yunho's smile falters on his face and his hand clenches into a fist, taking the material of his pants with it. When Seonghwa searches for San, he finds him almost transparent, a hollow look in his eyes. His fingers grip his marbles tightly enough for his knuckles to blanch white. The liveliness had disappeared from even Mingi, leaving him looking pale as he rubs his forearms consciously. Hongjoong's flowers and leaves seem to wilt despite the neutral look in his eyes, and Wooyoung… Seonghwa is struck speechless by the overwhelming bitterness that roiled off him, the unadulterated hatred in his gleaming eyes fit to burn Seonghwa to a crisp. 

"That...is a question for another time," Hongjoong states abruptly, rising to his feet and gathering the teacups onto his tray. "It's been a long day. Everyone get to bed. We'll have plenty of time to discuss tomorrow, _after_ you visit the Dean."

Seonghwa, sufficiently chastised despite not being scolded, weakly nods and rises to his feet, wordlessly skirting them as he drags himself towards the stairs. He glances back at them before looking away guiltily. "Thanks for the tea. Good night." He trudges up the stairs and makes his way to his bedroom, quietly opening the door and slipping inside. As he reaches to flip off the lightswitch, he catches movement from the corner of his eyes and turns to face Jongho.

This time, he barely reacts to the long, tapered ears, the pearlescent, earthy yellow skin that shone a faint green under the light, or the pupilless, violet eyes. He figures that Jongho must have either heard or sensed what had occurred downstairs. Jongho glances up from where his hands tightly plait his long, dark green hair that coiled on the bed like a serpent. On the mattress, beside the virtual rope of his hair, rested a now familiar silver band. When he meets Seonghwa's eyes, he smiles a little ruefully and lowers his eyes back to his hair. 

Seonghwa hesitates before shutting the door behind him and padding over to Jongho. He sits down on the edge of the bed and reaches for Jongho's hair, quietly finishing up the braid for him. "Are you doing okay?"

Jongho's eyes widen, evidently surprised by the concern, but he's quick to nod reassuringly. 

Seonghwa smiles wryly and grabs the leather strap draped over Jongho's thigh, fastening the braid tightly in place. "You worried me, you know. You looked like you were in a lot of pain." Seonghwa glances up at him with a frown. "I…I thought you told me you couldn't speak."

Jongho's brow furrows and he reaches for his notebook on his desk. His fingers enclose around his pen and he hesitates before resolutely scribbling something within it. He offers the notebook to Seonghwa who skims the words scratched onto the paper.

 _I can't. That wasn’t me, that was my blood._ _Sorry for scaring you._

Seonghwa frowns at the message, his grip tightening on the notebook. "...does it hurt?” Jongho stares at him, eyes wide and perplexed, and Seonghwa stares down at the notebook. “When whatever that was happens. Does it hurt you?”

Lines form on Jongho’s forehead as his gaze distances in thought. With a terse shake of his head, he grabs his notebook back from Seonghwa and writes in it. His lips press into a line, and he scribbles out whatever he had written before scratching something else onto the paper. He hands it back to Seonghwa, and twirls his pen restlessly between his fingers. 

_It’s just tiring. It hasn’t happened in a while. Don’t worry._

Seonghwa’s eyes widen as a weight settles on his head. He raises his head to stare at Jongho, whose mollifying hand settles among his hair. There’s a slight smile on the corners of Jongho’s lips, and Seonghwa can’t help but feel a warm fluster. Under Jongho’s calm eyes, he can’t fully purge the humbling realization that perhaps he was the callow one. He knew nothing of their situation, and had prioritized his own convenience above theirs. His ears flush with shame and he looks away from Jongho, rubbing his upper arm self-consciously, lips pursing into a thin frown. 

He glances down at the ends of Jongho’s hair, still in his lap, and abstractedly fiddles with it, plaiting tiny braids into the ends. “Did you know that creature—” He pauses and shakes his head. “Sorry, that _Jeongin_ would come after Yeosang like that?”

Jongho’s eyes widen, and Seonghwa takes that as a fairly certain ‘no’. Jongho grabs his notebook. When the pages are turned towards Seonghwa once more, his brow knits. 

_If you keep asking questions, you’ll become aware. And if you become aware, you won’t be able to escape. Is that really what you want?_

A chill spreads over Seonghwa’s back at the words and he lifts his gaze to Jongho, only to find him scrawling something more onto a scrap that he had torn from the page. Jongho presses the paper into his hand. 

_You have a chance to go home. If you know too much, you won’t be able to do that. Are answers worth that much to you?_

Seonghwa bites the inside of his lip and meets Jongho’s vivid, purple eyes. They seem to swim like water, drawing him in and stripping him to the bone, searching so avidly for his true intentions that it left him feeling bizarrely exposed. He drops the notebook as his arms naturally come around himself in a protective gesture. “I _do_ want to know, but…” He carefully slides off the bed, Jongho’s hair trailing off his lap and falling from the edge of the mattress like a length of dark green rope. “But maybe that’s just my curiosity.” 

He meets Jongho’s eyes and looks away mere seconds after. “I never thought about having to take responsibility for what I know.” He sits down on his bed, hands braced against the mattress, and eyes surveying the paper-strewn mess of Jongho’s desk. A mirthless laugh escapes from his lips as he reaches for his phone. He aimlessly scrolls down his contacts, mind whirring. Jongho did make an intimidating point. Was this all worthwhile? Surely, if no one had known of the existence of all these things, then it wasn’t meant to be known. 

“I’ll sleep over it,” he decides, plugging his phone in and setting it down on his desk. He watches Jongho pad over to the lightswitch and flip it off. The room bathes in darkness, and Seonghwa listens for the near soundless footsteps of Jongho returning to his bed. He lies down and stares at the window, hidden by drawn drapes, and eliciting a hollow, tuneless song as raindrops thrum against the glass.

* * *

Sleep fled from him. He tosses restlessly on the bed for what could have been hours, eyes burning with tiredness, but oddly enough unable to close with slumber. Seonghwa sits upright, combing a frustrated hand through his hair. He frowns and stares across the room at Jongho’s slumbering frame, bathed in the sickly greyish light of the dead hours of the morning after a storm. Quietly, he rises to his feet, his body laden with tiredness, and moving stiffly, as though it did not quite belong to him. He pads towards the bedroom door and opens it with a muffled creak. 

As he slinks down the corridor, the house creaks and rests, beneath his feet. Oppressive silence ripples around him and damp air clings to his skin as he steps down the stairs. The sound of his footsteps breaks through the stifling quiet. He glances at the clock as he passes through the shadowy hall, and spares a brief glance at the man on the couch in the parlour. He frowns in bemusement at the sight of the floor and window, both of which were perfectly repaired as though they had never been broken. If anything, the only evidence of the hours past was the presence of the deeply slumbering young man.

Seonghwa edges into the kitchen and flips the lightswitch, taking in the sight of the wooden shelves and drawers, stained countertops, copper implements that twinkled spotlessly with glaring disuse, and plants. Potted plants sat on the windowsill, hanging plants dangled from hooks in the ceiling, dripping down in vascular, green tresses. Flowering plants adorned the island in the centre of the kitchen, and climbing vines clung to the cracks in the tiled walls. Seonghwa could almost call the kitchen terribly cluttered. He brushes past a curtain of hanging leaves and throws open a few cupboards. 

To his dismay, no matter how long he searched, the shelves were stacked to the brim with junk food, and heaven forbid the fridge was actually being used. When Seonghwa opens the door, he’s met with only a blast of cold air and nothing more. He closes it with a sigh. 

“...what are you doing down here?”

Seonghwa whirls around, heart leaping into his throat, only to frown and steady himself against the fridge as he stares at Yeosang. Yeosang rubs his eyes absently, which were now a normal shade of dark brown, and Seonghwa realizes that he was once more human in appearance. Unable to stop his eyes from roaming over Yeosang, an amused little smile curls onto his lips at his striped, pink and white pyjamas. 

Yeosang raises an eyebrow at him, and Seonghwa shakes his head. “I couldn’t sleep,” he admits. He squints at Yeosang. “But what are _you_ doing down here?”

“I, likewise, couldn’t sleep,” Yeosang reluctantly acknowledges. 

They fall into a terse silence, and Seonghwa scuffs the heel of his foot against the floorboards with his eyes averted before clearing his throat and taking a step towards Yeosang. He opens his mouth to speak, but the words die in the corners of his mind, and he could not for the life of him recall what it was he wanted to say. He pauses, contemplating Yeosang. Really, he did look impeccably human like this. They all did. If he had not seen it for himself, he would have never believed that they weren’t. 

Yeosang meets his eyes momentarily before turning his head away and backing out of the kitchen. "Make me some tea."

Seonghwa's eyes widen indignantly as Yeosang turns his back and steps towards the living room. "Can't you make it yourself? Why ask me? I don't even drink tea normally!"

Yeosang pauses before turning around to stare at him. He tilts his head, lips pursed into a thin line. "That's why I told you to make it for me. Is there a problem with that?" Seonghwa fights down the increasing frustration that wells up in his chest at the genuine puzzlement in his voice. 

Seonghwa draws in a slow breath to calm his irritation. He meets Yeosang's eyes. "The problem is that I don't know you. And you don't know me. So I don't have any obligation to take your orders, and you don't have the authority to order me around," he explains slowly, as though explaining a concept to a child. When Yeosang doesn't respond, he heaves a sigh, shoulders slumping as he runs tired fingers through his hair. "You could have asked instead."

Yeosang surveys him blankly before turning around once more and striding towards the living room. Seonghwa stares at his retreating back before releasing a harried groan. 

Despite his words, Seonghwa retreats back into the kitchen, searching through the cabinets for tea leaves. He finds a few in unlabelled, glass jars, but he chooses not to risk those. Finally, he locates a labelled jar of chai. He grabs it and sets it on the counter. Whipping away, he boils some water in the kettle. As he waits, he grabs a duster to clean away the dirt that clung to the surfaces of the kitchen and the planters. At this point he was relieved to distract himself with any tasks, even if it involved preparing tea for a pretentious elf. 

He pours the boiling water into a ceramic teapot that he had fished out of one of the cabinets, and steeps a measure of the chai within it. He pads around the kitchen to the dining cabinet and fetches from it a tea tray and cups. He arranges everything on the tray and carries it out to the living room. 

Upon his arrival, he finds Yeosang seated in front of the dead fireplace, writing something or another on a yellowed strip of paper. Curiously, Seonghwa pours a cup of tea for Yeosang and offers it to him. “What are you doing?”

Yeosang glances up at him, eyes widening slightly with surprise at the sight of the tea. Evidently whatever he was doing had him preoccupied to the point that he hadn’t heard Seonghwa come. He swiftly rolls up the paper and tucks it between the seat cushion before accepting the steaming tea. Yeosang raises it to his lips, eyes briefly closing as he whiffs the distinctly spicy scent. His brow furrows, but he takes a delicate sip nonetheless. 

Seonghwa finds a frown naturally curling onto his lips as Yeosang glances up at him. “It’s too strong.” Before he can utter the sharp retort on his tongue, the corners of Yeosang’s lips curl into a fleeting smile. “...but thank you for making it.” 

Seonghwa stares at him, lips half-parted. He huffs, an instinctive chuckle falling from his mouth. “So you _can_ learn to be polite,” he remarks teasingly. Yeosang’s eyes widen and Seonghwa points a finger at him. “Elf or not, that’s no excuse to not have basic manners.” When Yeosang opens his mouth in retaliation, Seonghwa lowers his finger, his smile widening as he relaxes. “I’ll ask Hongjoong to teach me how to make better tea next time.” 

Yeosang studies him wordlessly, something Seonghwa couldn’t quite make out hiding in his dark eyes. “So...you’ll be staying here?”

The question catches Seonghwa unawares, but as he meets Yeosang’s eyes, he finds that he can’t answer. 

Yeosang nods decisively, as though that was answer enough. “I see.” 

With a frown, Seonghwa pours himself a cup of tea and sits down opposite of Yeosang, raising it to his lips. As he takes a sip, he winces. Yeosang wasn’t exaggerating—it really was too strong. It bites at his tongue and leaves him with a bit of a headache. He peers up at Yeosang as he takes another collected sip. Wryly, he glances down at his own cup of tea and sets it back on the tray. “How’s your arm?”

Yeosang pulls up his sleeve to reveal his unmarred skin. The air over it shimmers momentarily, and it dissolves into that peculiar, slightly bluish porcelain complexion. Seonghwa winces at the shallow but large lacerations that had completely scabbed over with a greyish crust. Yeosang scrutinizes the wound before nodding. “It’s been healing well. By tomorrow, it should be gone.” He pulls his sleeve over his arm, obscuring it.

“So fast!” Seonghwa exclaims in amazement. 

Yeosang’s lips twitch in a smile at his enthusiasm. “I was just fortunate that I had help, or it may have taken days to heal.” He falls silent and takes another sip of his tea.

Seonghwa watches him with a raised eyebrow before shaking his head and leaning against the back of his chair. “You know, you don’t have to drink it. It does taste awful.” 

Yeosang peers up at him from the rim of his teacup, and his eyes crinkle with amusement. “I told you to make me tea, Seonghwa. It’d be discourteous of me to not drink it after troubling you, someone whom I don’t know, and have no authority over.” How Yeosang manages to utter such a thing without sounding sarcastic, Seonghwa doesn’t know. His ears warm unexpectedly and his hands fold in his lap as they lapse into silence. 

“I’ve never been out of Scoiltgleann before.” Yeosang lowers his teacup onto the plate in his lap with a soft clink and meets Seonghwa’s eyes. “I’ve studied about Earth at Greenwich, but I still don’t know much. Can you tell me more about this place?” he asks.

It had never occurred to Seonghwa that these people wouldn’t know much about human customs, just as he knew nothing about them. Somehow, it softened Seonghwa’s perception, that they were not some omniscient, invincible beings. They were learning, just like he was. 

Much more relaxed than he had been all night, Seonghwa happily paints pictures of history, quotidian life, and everything in between with just enough anecdotes thrown in to prompt small smiles from him every now and then.

Minutes of their conversation become hours, and before Seonghwa realizes it, the sky brightens, bathing the living room in silvery light. The clouds still overcast the sky, but the storm had passed, leaving only a mellow quietude in its place. The tea cools in the pot, and the light, spicy aroma deepens and suspends in the air.

“Why, you two are up early.” 

Yeosang and Seonghwa turn to stare at Hongjoong as he hides a yawn behind his hand and runs his fingers through his sleep-tousled hair. Seonghwa can’t help the slight grin that pulls onto his lips at Hongjoong’s dishevelled appearance. He would’ve never thought that the calm and composed man...dryad...could look so unkempt when he woke up. It relaxed Seonghwa to see the little chips in the armour that made them seem more approachable.

Yeosang sets his empty teacup and plate onto the coffee table before straightening up and facing Hongjoong. “Why are you up so early?” he asks. 

Hongjoong offers him a lazy smile and pads over to them, lifting the lid of the teapot. His eyes widen and he whips his head to fix his eyes on Yeosang, and then Seonghwa. “Which one of you did this?” Hesitantly, Seonghwa raises his hand. Hongjoong’s lips part, but no words elicit from them. He glances at the cups and then back at Yeosang. “And you drank it?” Seonghwa can’t help but feel slightly offended at Hongjoong’s horrified tone. 

Yeosang’s lips curl into an amused smirk. “I did. Now, if you would, please make me a proper cup of tea?”

Seonghwa gapes at them as Hongjoong nods and takes away the tea that he had prepared. While it came as no shock to him that Hongjoong was rather displeased at his pitiful attempts to make tea, he had at least hoped that he would bury the matter kindly instead of rub salt on it, but of course he just had to be mistaken. A soft noise comes from Yeosang, and Seonghwa turns, raising an eyebrow at him. “Are you laughing at me?”

“Yes,” Yeosang replies simply, hiding his amusement behind a hand. “Yes, I am.” 

An offended retort dies on Seonghwa’s lips as he catches wind of knocks against the door, and he rises to his feet to see who would be knocking on their door at the early hours of the morning. Before he can cross the hall, Wooyoung bolts down the staircase and grabs the door, opening it to reveal an unfamiliar man with a head of dark, curly hair, and rather prominent bags under his eyes. Seonghwa watches in bemusement as Wooyoung hurries over to the parlour and lifts the slumbering Jeongin in his arms, handing him over to the man. 

With an exchange of a few hushed words, Wooyoung waves as the man departs. He turns around to meet Seonghwa’s quizzical gaze, and his eyes widen in challenge. “What?”

“...nothing,” Seonghwa sighs, the thought of confrontations sapping the energy from his body. He wasn’t keen on arguing today.

He retreats back to his bedroom, a slight smile curling onto his lips as he catches sight of the Jongho-shaped lump on the bed. He was still fast asleep, and rightfully so. It was far too early for so many people to be up and about. Seonghwa reaches into his suitcase and rummages around for a few moments before grabbing his toiletries and heading for the bathroom. It was crystal clear to him that he wouldn’t be getting a wink of sleep this morning.

Seonghwa pulls on a sweater just as someone knocks on the bathroom door. He opens it to find Mingi behind, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. “Thought you should know that Yeosang’s heading over to the Dean’s office now,” he announces with a smile. “You might want to go with him so you don’t get lost. I got lost on the way to the Dean’s office once. Not a very nice situation—” 

Seonghwa chuckles and pats Mingi’s shoulder as he quickly slinks past him. “Right, you can tell me all about it later. I don’t want to experience it for myself.” He dumps his things on his bed, silently bemoaning the mess before hurrying down the steps and slipping into his shoes. He catches a glimpse of Yeosang at the gate, and runs outside after him. “Wait!” 

Yeosang turns to spare him a glance before stepping outside anyway, and Seonghwa rolls his eyes. He really should have known better than to expect anything else from him by now.” Seonghwa slips through the gate and falls into step with Yeosang, letting out a shallow breath. “Do you never listen to anyone?”

“I do listen, but you were the one who decided to follow. I never asked to keep your company.” When Seonghwa opens his mouth to retaliate, he catches a glimmer of amusement in Yeosang’s eyes as he spares him a fleeting glance. Seonghwa gawps at him.

“Are you teasing me?”

Yeosang shrugs gracefully, waving the question off with a light hand. “Maybe.” 

Seonghwa sighs, a wry smile crawling over his lips. “You’re insufferable.” 

They fall into silence as they step over the quiet campus. To Seonghwa’s relief, everyone else seemed to be normal and decidedly _not_ up and about at this hour. It’s only a few minutes into the stroll that he realizes that it _is_ quiet—too quiet. There were no birds in the sky, nor creatures in the fields. Everything stood blanketed by a shroud of stifling silence. He shivers, unable to wipe away the unease at the unnatural environment.

They step past the grand courtyard of neatly trimmed grass and grand statues of regal figures that Seonghwa couldn’t recognize. Upon closer inspection, he catches the faint inhuman characteristics, whether elongated ears or clawed fingers, or odd patterns of skin. The fountain at the entrance of the grand facility heralded the grandest figure of them all, an elven effigy with a willful gaze etched eternally onto stone features, and a double-bladed scimitar in her clawed grip. Her robes were sculpted torn, and a seething marking carved itself onto her shoulder and neck. Hair that swept to her ankles flowed in elegant waves; Seonghwa could almost see it rippling with the wind. He pauses to admire for a few moments, amazed by the realism of the workmanship. It somehow looked eerily familiar, but Seonghwa couldn’t quite place a finger on it. 

Yeosang catches his stare and slows down, standing beside him and gazing up into the face of the statue. He nods. “That is Maris, the elven guardian deity that founded the Empire millennia ago.” 

Seonghwa dips his fingers in the water of the fountain, and watches as a flaming, orange light traces the patterns chiselled onto the base. He lifts his hand, and the gleaming light dissipates. When he turns to face Yeosang, he finds an inscrutable look painted deep in his eyes. Seonghwa wipes his hand against his pant leg and regards the statue once more. “She looks stern.” 

Yeosang takes a step away from the fountain, and Seonghwa pads after him. Yeosang keeps his gaze forward as they bypass the towering grecian pillars to approach the glass doors of the building. “According to the ancient legends, before the Empire’s founding, the land was a mass of barrenness and volcanic activity, swarmed with monstrous, amoral creatures who terrorized its inhabitants. They called these creatures shadowrunners. Almost all the sentient species lived underground, where the shadowrunners could not reach them, and anyone who left for the surface world never returned. Maris and her brother, Mavors decided that they would take the land that they were certain belonged to them.” Yeosang’s eyes seem to brighten as he recalls the story, and Seonghwa can’t help but wonder just what someone so attached to the tales of his life would be doing in this rift, as they had called it. 

Yeosang leads him through the quiet corridors, and Seonghwa finds that the inside of the building was quite pleasantly modern and familiar. He relaxes as he listens to Yeosang’s mild voice narrate his tale. “The siblings fought side by side, but were eventually separated. Maris fled to a volcanic mountain to hide and recuperate.” Seonghwa could almost see the elven woman running over a barren landscape to escape from the beastly creatures that chased her, scrapes on her arms and robes clinging to her bloody wounds. “They followed her, and she couldn’t shake them off, so she leapt into the volcano. When they followed her, they fell into the magma and were consumed.” 

Seonghwa winces at the thought, but Yeosang doesn’t seem to notice. “Maris had grabbed onto a cleft in the throat of the volcano with her scimitar, and hidden herself in a chamber within the rock. She stayed there for days, starved, wounded, and weak, but more than anything praying to see her brother safe again. She fell asleep, and they say that she may have died there if the land hadn't saved her, for she had not scorned it like the shadowrunners.” Yeosang’s eyes sparkle with something almost akin to admiration in his eyes, and Seonghwa can’t help but smile.

“The fires of the land warmed her, the earth fed her with its scorched fruits, the air kept her body alive, and the water nurtured her. They imbued her with their magic, which manifested on her body in a mark.” Yeosang draws his finger down his neck and over his shoulder. “An insignia of the land’s blessing.” He pauses at the bottom of a spiralling stairwell, and stands before a fresco that extended up the stone wall. He motions to the image of a female elf atop a volcano. “When the volcano erupted, she rode on the flames to face the shadowrunners and find her brother.” He begins his ascent up the stairwell, his hand brushing the images lightly, and Seonghwa follows close behind him.

Seonghwa shudders at the depiction of grotesque masses of embodied darkness, roiling with rotting eyes and entrails, barely even a shape, and more so a mass of grisly shadows. He frowns. Yeosang carries on without pausing for him to absorb everything. “And she slaughtered the creatures with her blessed weapon, and magic. She was ruthless as she had to be, until she faced the very final shadowrunner.” His hand comes to a rest on another depiction of darkness that took on a more detailed shape than any others before. Yeosang turns to stare at the figure with an unreadable mask over his refined features. “It was her brother, Mavors.” 

Yeosang turns to face Seonghwa, eyes gleaming silver. “She wept when she saw that he had fallen to the darkness, but he showed neither remorse nor repentance. They fought a bloody battle, watering the ground with their blood for seven days before she finally slew him, not with magic, but with her blade. She mourned over him, and the legends say that her tears mixed with his blood, entering the ground and healing it. Life and vegetation returned to the land, and she brought the elves to the surface.” 

Seonghwa blinks owlishly as Yeosang turns his back to him and carries on down the corridor. “She climbed up the mountain once more, and there she cut off her hair and split it into five parts. She dedicated one part to the sky, one to the earth, one to the flames of the land, and one to the sea. The last part she dedicated to the elves, distributing it in parts to the heads of the households. The magic within her covered the land, and within years, the Elven Empire was built. Her name and her legendary weapon were enshrined in the first temple erected. Some say her scimitar is still kept deep in the temple’s catacombs, others claim that it’s been lost to time.” 

Yeosang slows to a stop before a pair of large, oaken doors, and Seonghwa peers at the bronze lettering along the wall that simply read ‘Office of the Dean’. Debossed onto the nameplate on the door itself was the name Saturnus O’Kallaghan. Seonghwa frowns as Yeosang knocks against the door. The few moments of silence that extends down the dead hall causes a trickle of unease to ripple over Seonghwa’s spine. 

A man’s voice calls them to enter, and Seonghwa allows Yeosang to take the lead. He steps inside, and his eyes blow wide. The domed ceiling opened to allow a massive telescope a clear view of the sky, and the room was strewn with all manner of books, maps, and artifacts. It looked like less of an office, and more of a hybrid between an anachronistic library and an observatory. His gaze falls onto the man seated behind a semicircular desk. 

The man couldn’t have been more than fifty, with his age barely wrinkling his face and a scarce streaks of grey through his short, neatly styled hair. A pair of glasses perch on the bridge of his nose, and as he looks up at them, Seonghwa tentatively meets his austere gaze. He sits upright and pulls off his glasses, tucking them into the breast pocket of his dinner jacket. “Yeosang. And…” He scrutinizes Seonghwa. An unreadable look glazes over his eyes. “Seonghwa Park.” He sighs and folds his hands atop the table. “I heard some concerning news from your housemate last night.” He fixes his gaze back on Yeosang. “Formalities are in order. Are you recovering well?”

Yeosang nods respectfully. “Thanks to Hongjoong, I’m healing quickly, Dean O'Kallaghan.” 

“And the house?”

“Twilight has been fully repaired.”

Dean O'Kallaghan spares a dour nod in response. “Unfortunately, in accordance with the Greenwich code of conduct, Jeongin will be disciplined for his misdeed—"

Yeosang holds up a hand, and to Seonghwa's astonishment, the Dean pauses, nodding for him to speak. Yeosang shakes his head. "Dean O'Kallaghan, I hardly think that's fair—"

"Fairness has little to do with it, Yeosang." Dean O'Kallaghan rises to his feet and meets his eyes firmly. "I cannot excuse this behaviour in this environment."

"No, you don't understand—"

This time, Dean O'Kallaghan holds his hand up for silence, and Yeosang's words die on his lips. Seonghwa shifts his weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other as he turns to fixate him with his stern gaze. "Seonghwa Park."

"Yes, sir?" Tentatively, Seonghwa lifts his gaze to watch the Dean, not quite meeting his eyes. This was easily the most intimidating person he's ever met, and being directly in the line of his vision wasn't particularly doing wonders for Seonghwa's nerves. 

"I understand that you have shown interest in relinquishing your scholarship and returning to your hometown?" 

Seonghwa pauses, his eyes finally meeting those of the Dean. His lips press into a tight frown at the glaring prospects that were abruptly laid before him. He could either return home to the familiarity of his country, his family, and his friends, and take up his studies elsewhere, or he could stay here. Amidst the unpredictability and potential danger of cohabitation with these nonhuman species. 

Jongho's written words flare up in his mind. Was this truly what he was willing to do, or was it merely a selfish wish to satiate his curiosity? He was both frightened and exhilarated by the potential of his future if he were to stay, but the more he considered it, the less he wished to leave. He was here by his own merit; even Hongjoong had admitted that he must be here because he was meant to be. 

"I want to stay, Dean O'Kallaghan," he replies, and in that moment he almost swears that he could see a glint of approval in the Dean's eyes. The dean spares him a nod.

"Very well. I formally welcome you to Greenwich College." Seonghwa doesn't even receive a chance to express his thanks before Dean O’Kallaghan’s gaze settles on Yeosang once more. “Now, what is it that you wanted to say?”

Yeosang frowns. “Dean O’Kallaghan, it wasn’t Jeongin’s fault.” He draws a familiar paper from the pocket of his jeans, striding forward to hand it to the Dean. “I’m sure that it was…” he drifts off before breathing out a resigned sigh. “I’m sure that it was the Imperial Mages.” He raises a hand to touch the reddish mark near his eye. “He had the triquetra on his forehead.”

“That is a serious claim,” Dean O’Kallaghan warns, his brow knitting. He opens the paper to read over its contents, and if at all possible, his frown deepens. “Yeosang, what is this?”

“The words of Jongho’s prophecy,” Yeosang replies coolly. “Word for word. This is why I believe I should go back.” 

The Dean thumps the paper atop his desk with a heavy hand, gaze swirling with contention. “Absolutely not.” 

“Dean O’Kallaghan! You’re putting this place in grave danger if you keep me here! Is it really worth the risk? You can’t hold the bulwarks up forever, and the strength of the Imperial Army is growing. Can’t you feel it?” Seonghwa’s eyes widen at the uncharacteristic fervency in Yeosang’s tone. “Jongho has never been wrong before.” 

“I went to great lengths to rescue you, even putting the adherents at risk,” Dean O’Kallaghan responds, his voice thundering through the office although he shows no sign of raising it. “Having you return to the Empire would put you in unnecessary danger.” 

“Having me here puts everyone else in danger," Yeosang points out. The Empire has no consideration for anything other than itself—if they cross the dimensional barriers, they'll bring this world to ruin, and all your efforts with it! You give them a metre and they'll take a mile.” Yeosang's gaze hardens. "Surely one elf is nothing compared to a whole world."

Seonghwa falters away from Yeosang as he approaches the Dean’s desk and rests his palms flat on it, staring up into his eyes. “I’m giving you a direct order, Clockworker Saturnus. Send me back to the Empire.” His eyes flash a malevolent silver, and his soft voice darkens. “If they lay their hands on my brother again because you failed to do your duty, I will _not_ forgive you.”

Deafening silence reigns over the office as Seonghwa gapes at Yeosang’s back in shock. The moments that extend subsequent to Yeosang’s outburst weigh oppressively in the humid air. Seonghwa swallows a thick glob of saliva, wincing as he nearly chokes from the dryness of his throat. His eyes dart between Yeosang and Dean O’Kallaghan, desperately praying that one of them would break the burdensome silence. 

Dean O’Kallaghan calmly steps away from the desk, leaving Yeosang’s eyes burning into his back as he strides towards a gilded astronomical clock that hangs on the wall. He studies it for a few moments before stepping over to a calendar beside it. Pulling a pen from his breast pocket, he strikes through a date on the calendar. “You’re fortunate,” he states, unfazed. “Tomorrow, the red planet is ascendant, and the barriers will be flexible.”

He turns around and strides back to Yeosang, lowering himself onto one knee and raising a hand to his chest. Seonghwa’s chest wells with incredulity, as though his past few days hadn’t been enough for him to question his existence. Dean O’Kallaghan raises his head to meet Yeosang’s eyes, and the faintest of smiles creeps onto his lips. 

“Very well. I will see to it that you are transported safely tonight,

_Prince Yeosang.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fantasy genre is actually a difficult one for me, so I normally have a pretty hard time writing it. But it was fun to try stepping out of my comfort zone and trying new things like creating character designs and magic systems...but of course, that's only the very tip of the iceberg~  
> Thank you for everyone who took time out of their day to read, and I do hope you enjoyed!  
> I'll hopefully see you all again soon in the next chapter :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here we are again with another chapter~  
> Thank you so much to everyone who's stuck with me, and I truly do appreciate all of your comments and kudos~  
> Lately I've actually been quite busy, so I don't know for how much longer I can keep up regular updates, but again, I'll definitely try my best!  
> Enough of my rambling, let's get into it

“This can’t be real… It can’t be… It can’t—” 

Mingi rests his chin on Yeosang’s shoulder from behind him, peering curiously at the feverishly muttering Seonghwa, whose eyes are glued to his phone. “Yeosang, I have no idea what you did to him, but I think he’s broken. Is that a thing? Can you break humans?” Mingi’s eyes glaze over in thought. 

“I think you can break anything if you really wanted to,” Wooyoung remarks from his perch on the back of the couch as he nonchalantly whets a pocketknife in swift, practiced strokes. His eyes narrow at Yeosang and he turns his head away. “Especially him.” 

Yeosang remains meekly silent despite the concealed blade in Wooyoung’s voice. His eyes scan the pages of his book mindlessly, as Seonghwa murmurs under his breath, and Mingi reads over his shoulder. Naturally, neither of them were reading. Yeosang’s nail drags along the leather cover of the book rhythmically, and his brow furrows as Mingi’s quiet breaths and the undulating, metallic scratch of Wooyoung’s knife grated on his nerves, which were already sore from the tactless confrontation with the Clockworker. 

He rises to his feet, book snapping shut in his hand, and a cry of surprise elicits from Mingi’s lips as he teeters over from losing his chinrest. Yeosang stares at him in silence before shaking his head and stepping out of the living room. He rubs his wounded arm abstractedly as he trudges up the staircase. 

"Hey, Yeosang!" 

Yeosang whips around to stare blankly at Yunho, hastily slapping his hand away from his shoulder. Yunho's eyes widen ever so slightly, and Yeosang's lips part with cold shock at the realization that he had just struck him. He grips his hand, as though it would move of its own accord and hit Yunho again if he didn't. "I— I'm sorry, Yunho, I didn't—"

Yunho lowers his hand with a sigh, and offers Yeosang a dry smile. "Don't worry about it." His gaze drifts to Yeosang's arm. "Are you okay?" The concern that shines in his eyes blooms a flower of guilt in Yeosang's chest. He avoids Yunho's gaze with a nod. 

"I'm fine, thanks to you and Hongjoong." He rubs his arm, trailing his fingertips over the crusted scab beneath his shirt. He raises his head to face Yunho with a delicate frown on his lips. "You should stop doing things like that. It's dangerous for you." His eyes narrow. "You need to stop playing the hero. It was fun when we were children, but...things are different now."

Yunho's eyes widen and he reaches towards Yeosang, only for Yeosang to back away from him. Yunho frowns. "Yeosang, if this is about what Jongho said last night—"

"It's not."

Yunho falls silent. Yeosang turns his head away and strides past Yunho and towards his room. He steps inside and shuts the door behind him, drawing in a slow breath and gathering his thoughts. He had made his decision. It was a terribly risky and potentially endangering decision, but it was the best option he had. He couldn't let the Empire find Yunho. He couldn't let the Empire find any of them. And now that they had tracked him down, the simplest way to throw them off their tracks was to return. 

He pads past the mess of clothes and plants on Hongjoong's side of the room to slump against the windowsill, chin resting over his crossed arms. He gazes outside at the overcast sky, his eyes reflecting the silvery clouds. He could only hope that Yunho would forgive him.

Spinning on his heel, Yeosang strides towards the door, resting his hand on the brass knob, but not quite turning it just yet. He had many apologies to make, but not enough words within him to make them. If that was the case, he'd fix the problems he brought with his actions. His eyes darken, and his lips curve into a mirthless as he opens the door. There wouldn't be any returning to Greenwich once he left. It had been a sweet escape for a short time, but even a distant world would catch up to him if he kept fleeing. 

When he returns downstairs, He’s cornered in the vacant parlour by a frowning Mingi. Yeosang stares up at him in terse silence for a few moments before opening his mouth. “What?”

“What are you hiding?”

Yeosang raises an eyebrow. “What makes you say that I’m hiding something?”

Mingi peers down at him before stepping back to give him space to breathe. He holds a hand up and brazenly ticks down his fingers as he speaks. “You’ve been fidgety since you got back from the Dean’s, you haven’t made fun of any of us since getting back, your chakras are a _mess_ , Yunho is being weirdly quiet, and he only ever gets this kind of quiet when he’s worried about you—” 

Yeosang holds up a hand with a rueful sigh, and shakes his head. “Okay! Okay, I understand. You can stop now.” When he sees Mingi’s mouth opening to speak, he rests his hand on his neck and cracks it with a wince. “Please.” 

Mingi nods deferentially after a moment of hesitation, and loosely crosses his arms over his chest. “I...you might not be everyone’s favourite person, but we don’t want you to be hurt again like last night,” he says plainly, lips curling into a frown. 

A twinkle of sardonic amusement creeps into Yeosang’s eyes as he meets Mingi’s eyes. “What happens to me should be the least of your worries, Mingi,” Yeosang replies. He takes a step forward. “You don’t have to lie about this around me. It's fine to hate me. You owe it to yourself.” 

“I used to hate you,” Mingi admits honestly, but Yeosang doesn’t bat an eyelash at the confession. “But what’s the point now, really? You’re just as powerless as the rest of us.” An almost condescending curve forms on Mingi’s lips. “There’s no use hating something that has just as little control of the situation as you do.” 

Yeosang’s eyes darken. “If you came here to insult me, then save it for another time,” he snaps. “You’re here now, and you’re free. What more do you want? If I hadn’t stuck my neck out for you, you might not be alive right now.” Yeosang’s voice hardens as he looks away from Mingi. “I stay out of your business now, isn’t that enough? Don’t concern yourself with things you don’t have experience with.” 

Mingi stretches out an arm to block his path as he swivels to exit the parlour. Yeosang flinches as his human skin shimmers to reveal the pale blue complexion, crisscrossed with vicious, whitish scars. “That’s it though,” he states. “You stuck your neck out for me. I might not like you that much, but I owe you.”

“The only thing you owe me is some peace and quiet,” Yeosang retorts, his voice quieting. “Don’t bring up values like that to me.” His lips purse in distaste. “Be satisfied with the life you have now.” He reaches up, fingers curling over Mingi’s scarred arm, and pulls it down to provide himself passage. 

As he steps away, he hears the floorboards creak under Mingi’s movements, and the air cool behind him. For a split-second, Yeosang feels water coil around his wrist, as though to hold him back. He jerks his arm away and strides to the living room, sitting himself near the fireplace, which crackled with a live flame. Seonghwa and Hongjoong remained present in the room, but Seonghwa barely notices him, hands still affixed to his phone.

Hongjoong glances up from a collection of glass beakers and dubious chemicals on a side table. “Yeosang,” he greets. 

“Hongjoong, please make me coffee,” Yeosang requests, without turning to face him. “With cream.” 

The surprise that flutters over Hongjoong’s features quickly melts into a more neutral expression as he plasters a smile onto his lips and nods. “All right.” He seals the beakers and rises to his feet, exiting the living room and leaving him before the crackling flames. Tentatively, he reaches out to touch the faintly glowing screen. 

“What are you doing?”

Yeosang’s hand jerks back as Seonghwa’s voice cuts through the quiet, and he whirls around to face him. Seonghwa had already clambered off the chesterfield and had reached out, almost touching his shoulder. Yeosang’s lips press into a thin line and he raises an eyebrow. “Why do you ask?”

“Why do I ask?” Seonghwa rakes his fingers through his hair and then draws his fingers down his face, and Yeosang notices the dark bags under his eyes. He recalls that Seonghwa had claimed sleeplessness that morning, just as he had. A rough, longsuffering sigh leaves Seonghwa’s throat. “Because you get burnt if you touch something too hot, in case you forgot.” 

Yeosang glances down at his hand, and then at the metal screen. A bubbling sensation creeps up his throat and his hand flies to his mouth to suppress it. A soft chuckle escapes his lips despite himself. 

“Would you stop laughing at me?” Seonghwa exclaims, but when Yeosang glances back at him, he finds his lips trembling with the urge to smile as well. 

Yeosang raises an eyebrow at him, a smirk creeping over his lips. “I never knew it was this simple to get your attention.”

Seonghwa’s ears redden, and he reaches up with a conscious hand to cover one as he presses a frown onto his lips, and Yeosang couldn’t help but be amused at the fluster. Seonghwa’s lips part, and he huffs with disbelief, averting his gaze. “You do realize that there are other safer and more effective ways to get my attention, right?”

“Safer, maybe, but I don’t know about effective,” Yeosang bites. He folds his hands in his lap and tilts his head at Seonghwa. “You seemed pretty preoccupied.” 

Seonghwa sits down, cross-legged, beside him. "How could I not be?" He queries. "Ever since I got here, I've discovered so many things that I thought never existed, and I don't know a thing about anything." He raises his phone. "So of course I had to research. Is the whole elf longevity thing really true?"

"It depends on what you would call longevity," Yeosang replies, barely realizing that he had relaxed into this conversation. There was something refreshing about speaking with a person who didn't know his norms. "We have lifespans of a few hundred years at best."

Seonghwa's eyes widen, and Yeosang resists the urge to smile at his astonishment. Rubbing the back of his neck, Seonghwa lets out a huff. “Yeah, that _would_ count as longevity. Humans rarely even reach a hundred years.”

“The dryads live even longer. Hongjoong is probably older than all of us combined,” Yeosang muses. 

“I beg to differ!” 

Seonghwa and Yeosang glance back at Hongjoong as he strides into the room, an affronted glint in his eyes, and a tray of coffee in his hands. Seonghwa’s lips twitch, and he bursts into laughter, while amusement swims in Yeosang’s eyes. Hongjoong clears the living room in lengthy strides and sets the tray down on the coffee table before taking a cup and passing it to Yeosang with a comical sulk. “I take care of you, and you make fun of my age in exchange?”

Yeosang grasps his coffee cup in one hand and holds up the other in appeasement. “I thought your kind measures wisdom with age,” he pacifies as Hongjoong hands another cup of coffee to Seonghwa who, at first, accepts it with surprise before quickly concealing it and thanking him. Yeosang absently wonders if all humans wore their hearts on their sleeves like he did. 

“Yeosang, if you expect me to believe that's what you meant, you must not think very highly of my wisdom,” Hongjoong remarks wryly. 

Hiding a smile behind the rim of his coffee cup, Yeosang shrugs and takes a sip. He never particularly enjoyed coffee, watered down bitterness with just enough cream thrown in to make him nauseous, but Seonghwa seemed to enjoy it, if the delighted glimmer in his eyes said anything. Yeosang glances down at the drink in his hands and lowers it to his lap as he turns to face Hongjoong. “Thank you.” 

“Since when did you become so considerate?” Hongjoong teases, not unkindly, and Yeosang almost rolls his eyes at him. 

Seonghwa nods at Hongjoong. “He’s getting better at it, isn’t he?”

Yeosang purses his lips and pointedly looks away from the pair, instead staring into the dancing flames as they chatter behind him. He frowns, caught up in the delicate light that could burn him if he drew too close. He reaches out towards the screen, only for a pair of fingers to snake around his wrist, holding him back. 

He glances back at Seonghwa, who frowns at him. “Stop doing that! You’re going to hurt yourself!” Seonghwa scolds, and Yeosang meets his eyes silently. Although they don’t exchange words, Seonghwa’s eyes widen, and he looks away, releasing Yeosang’s hand. Seonghwa rises to his feet, and Yeosang watches as he leaves the living room, coffee in hand. He glances over at Hongjoong, who peers at him a fraction too perceptively for his liking. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

Hongjoong sits down by the side table and unstops his beakers coolly. “No real reason.”

They were both aware that Hongjoong’s words were a breeze over the buried truth, but Yeosang couldn’t bring himself to press for answers. 

Yeosang quietly passes through the day as he always did, but when night falls, he remains downstairs as everyone retreats to their rooms. The house settles with a groan, and he finds himself peering into the stuttering flames of the fireplace once more. A sigh elicits from his lips and he rises to his feet, moving to one of the windows and peering outside. The storm had passed, and the sky was a crisp, pitch black, dusted over in glimmering stars. The moon shines in a smiling crescent, and Yeosang reaches up to cover it with his hand. 

This Earth, or what he had seen of it, was a place full of surprises and wonders. It was a good place for them to stay. At the very least, he wouldn’t regret leaving them here. Yeosang lowers his hand and twists a silver ring from his finger. The air around him shivers and shifts until his skin pales to a pearlescent bluish, his hair drains of colour and lengthens, and his eyes shine silver. He raises a hand to touch a heavily-scarred ear, and draws in a steeling breath. 

Yeosang steps to the fireplace, and drops his ring among the flames. He grips the poker, spreading ashes over the dying fire. As it finally extinguishes with nary a sound, he sets the poker aside and makes his way out of the living room. Yeosang strides through the dark hall until he reaches the door. He glances back, squinting up at the staircase for a brief moment before turning and slipping out of the door. 

He hurries over the residence grounds, footsteps quick and soundless. His eyes narrow at the locked gate, and he leaps towards it, grasping the decorative spikes, and nimbly vaulting himself over it. He lands with a soft thump on the pavement, and turns to the main building, springing into a run. 

“Wait!” 

Yeosang tenses at the cry, and whips around in time to catch Seonghwa pulling himself up the bars, and hefting himself over the gate with difficulty, using the shield sigil to guide his step as he hops down. Yeosang debates on abandoning him then and there—he could easily outrun Seonghwa if he wished, but something stops him, makes him turn to face Seonghwa with a displeased narrowing of his eyes. “What do you think you’re doing?” he hisses. 

“What do _you_ think _you’re_ doing?” Seonghwa counters, running up to him and staring him down. “You didn’t even tell them about anything?”

“Them?” An incredulous huff elicits from Yeosang’s throat as he shakes his head. “What does it matter to them? This is none of their business.” 

“Don’t be selfish!” Yeosang’s eyes widen as Seonghwa’s eyes blaze with indignation. “You live with them! They’re concerned for you, and you were just attacked last night! What makes you think that running off will solve whatever problems you have?” The edge in Seonghwa’s eyes falls away, replaced with something slightly softer. “Hongjoong would worry about you, and so would Yunho. And I have a feeling that the rest of them would too. The least you could do is tell them that you’re leaving.” 

Yeosang meets his gaze in silence before shaking his head. “You’re one to preach to me about selfishness. What do you know?” he asks simply. At the confusion that crosses Seonghwa’s gaze, he nods. “That’s what I thought. You shouldn’t pretend to understand things that you don’t.” Yeosang waves him away with a pale hand. “If you insist on telling them, go tell them yourself.” 

He turns his back to Seonghwa, and takes a step, only to feel fingers wrapping around his wrist. He glances back at Seonghwa, his brow furrowing. “Haven’t you said enough?”

“Just…” Seonghwa doesn’t meet his eyes. “At least let me come with you to the Dean’s office.” 

Yeosang opens his mouth to refuse, but when he catches Seonghwa’s gaze, he nods. “All right. But do _not_ interfere, do you understand?”

At Seonghwa’s meek nod, Yeosang turns around once more and runs towards the main building, narrowly skirting the light of the street lanterns in his excursion. He slows down just enough for Seonghwa to barely keep up with him, and when he finally skids to a stop at the pillars, Seonghwa stumbles behind him, hands falling to his knees as he keels over, panting. Yeosang glances back at him, only to find him straightening up, and stubbornly wiping the beads of sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. 

“What are you waiting for? Let’s go,” Seonghwa states, his voice sharp and his gaze sharper. Startled, Yeosang, averts his eyes and turns to push open the glass doors, the coolness pervading his skin. He strides through the corridors, Seonghwa treading mutely at his side. Yeosang steals a glance at him, but Seonghwa’s gaze is fixed ahead as they draw closer to the tower of the office-observatory. 

Yeosang strides ahead, ascending the staircase with Seonghwa following in close suit. He lifts a hand to knock on the door, but pauses just before his knuckles make contact, hesitation clouding his eyes. 

“You don’t have to leave, you know,” Seonghwa mentions, as though the words were eggshells, and he was treading them. “Dean O’Kallaghan did say that you should stay.” 

Yeosang’s eyes harden and he flashes Seonghwa a tenacious stare as he knocks the door in flagrant defiance of his words. What he wanted and what he had to do, unfortunately, did not coincide; not that he could ever admit something like that to someone like Seonghwa. As he pushes the door open and steps into the office, Seonghwa winces and follows him.

“It’s good to see that you’re as punctual as ever, Prince,” the Dean begins, as he glances back at them from the clock. He stops short and turns around fully, his gaze landing on Seonghwa with a critical frown. “Seonghwa Park. I don’t believe I requested your presence?”

“I agreed to let him come with me, Clockworker Saturnus,” Yeosang quickly defends before Seonghwa has the chance to speak. “He's here under my word."

An unreadable expression convoluted the Dean's eyes, but he spares a brisk nod at them and turns back to the astronomical clock as it strikes midnight, gears rolling and shifting to announce the ascendance of the red planet. Yeosang watches silently as he raises his arms, and a fissure cleaves through the air, reaching from the floor nearly to the ceiling.

Yeosang glances over at Seonghwa, who gapes at the sight, his eyes clouding over. His lips press into a thin line and he looks away from him. The fissure tears open into a blindingly bright ellipse, and Yeosang shields his eyes with a hand, grimacing at the light. He retreats back a few steps as the light dims ever so slightly, just enough for him to glimpse the massive iron gears that rotated slowly into each other, as though powering a much larger machine that he could not see. 

The astronomical clock spins wildly, and the calendar bleaches white as the fissure widens, almost large enough for him to slip through if he tried. He waits with a growing coil of impatience until the clock rotates clockwise once more and the gears fade into a dull, grey entrance of what appeared as a long tunnel, lined with pillars inscribed with an unknown script. 

Yeosang takes a step towards the tunnel, only for the inscriptions to glow a fiery red. His eyes widen, breaths catching in his throat at the eerie sight that he had never seen before. 

A guttural scream erupts from his side, and Yeosang's head whips around in time to see Seonghwa drop onto one knee, fingers clawing at his neck. His skin seethes, as though it were a living entity, and before Yeosang's eyes it becomes a sickly, flayed stretch, giving way to a bloody strip of glistening flesh. Seonghwa's eyes widen and glaze over with agony as he convulses, a hoarse cry of pain tearing itself violently from his throat. Seonghwa grapples at the wound, nails scraping at the raw flesh and staining his clothes in a vicious crimson.

Yeosang's body acts of its own accord, running to Seonghwa's side and wresting his hand away from his suppurating neck, gazing into his unfocused, pain-ridden eyes. "Seonghwa. Seonghwa!" He calls, louder than he's ever spoken to him before, gripping his wrists like a vice to stop him from touching the wound. 

Seonghwa's head thrashes, his gaze losing their lustre of sanity, as though something was eating away at his brain, and Yeosang's heart thuds heavily in his throat as he desperately wracks his mind for a solution. Behind him, the tunnel begins to brighten, and the sound of gears creaking enters his ears. 

"Prince Yeosang, the barrier will close if you do not go now!" 

The Dean's voice seems distant to Yeosang, and he grabs Seonghwa's head in his hands, swiping away the foam at the corner of his lips with a furrowed brow. "Clockworker Saturnus, help him!" he demands, his voice drowning out amidst the deafening sound of the gears. 

"I will attend to him, but you must leave now if you wish to leave!" 

Yeosang catches the beads of sweat that form at Dean O'Kallaghan's forehead, and something switches within him. He releases Seonghwa, who just falls to the ground, a trickle of saliva dripping from the corner of his mouth as he lays catatonic on the floorboards, twitching weakly. He tears his gaze away from Seonghwa and approaches the gate in the barrier, only to stop short at the sound of doors being thrown open. 

"Yeosang, what are you doing?!"

"Seonghwa!" 

"Clockworker, please stop!"

In rapid succession, Hongjoong, Yunho, and San burst into the room, followed closely by Jongho, Wooyoung, and Mingi. Yeosang almost curses at the sight of them, his eyes widening. San and Wooyoung rush over to Seonghwa's prone body, while Hongjoong reaches out for him, a vine springing from his arm to coil around his wrist. 

"Yeosang, you can't do this," Hongjoong insists sharply, his voice belying the harrowed look in his eyes. Yeosang's eyes drift over to Yunho, who only stares at the barrier portal in horror, and his heart hardens with resolve. He skims the wall of the office and jumps, grabbing a sword mounted on a pair of bronze spikes. Raising it, he whispers a soft apology as he severs Hongjoong's vine from his wrist in a single, clean slice. Yeosang throws himself through the barrier, narrowly dodging the large gears that nearly take off his head. 

As he runs towards the illuminated tunnel of pillars, he glances back in time to catch the shock imprinted on their faces. Even that soon disappears as the ellipse closes, and the rift stitches itself together. Yeosang runs through the tunnel without pause, gaze only briefly skimming the glowing, fiery runes. 

He spans the tunnel and bursts through into a marble hall, lined with towering, bar sconces alight with bright flames. The light stood sentry for the towering statue of Maris. He had been brought to the temple, he realizes belatedly. 

"Imperial Prince Grantz! Don't move!"

Yeosang tenses and whips around, borrowed sword at the ready and glinting under the burning flames of the sconces. His eyes narrow at the rune-inscribed handguns pointed towards him by three elves, clad in familiar, dark blue military robes, bearing the uncircled triquetra of the Imperial Army. His lips curl back in a scowl. "This is a sacred place. You will not shed blood in Maris' sight," he states.

"And you will follow the Mages if you want to save your worthless life," a voice speaks, dangerously close to his ear. A bladed pistol presses against his neck, and he tilts his head back to prevent being cut. His gaze darts to his side, and he catches a glimpse of sheer, wine-red fabric. 

His eyes narrow. "You adherents wouldn't dare dirty the temple with my blood."

The knife draws closer to his neck until his skin presses against it when he swallows. A bead of indigo blood seeps out of the thin incision. The voice behind him only chuckles. "Wouldn't we? Surrender, Imperial Prince Grantz, and maybe you'll be shown mercy."

Three guns at his head and a blade at his neck didn't exactly seem like the best odds. Then again, he had known precisely what he was returning to when he chose to return. Yeosang's lips purse into a thin line, and his eyes darken as his blade clatters to the temple floor.

"I surrender."

  
  


* * *

"Damn the gods!" 

Golden eyes blazing with fury, Wooyoung hurls the ash-tarnished silver ring onto the floor. It rolls across the wooden grains, tipping over, and coming to a rattling stop as it strikes the foot of the Dean's desk. He turns on Dean O'Kallaghan and stares at him, wide-eyed. "How could you, Clockworker?!" The beginnings of flames form at the ends of his clawlike, black fingernails. "What in the five hells were you thinking?!"

A stream of water douses his fingertips, as Mingi's fingers encircle his upper arm, pulling him back. Even despite that, Mingi's gaze fixed onto the Dean, equally accusatory. "You're the Dean, why would you send him back to the Empire?" Mingi's grip around Wooyoung's arm unintentionally tightens. "That's a deathwish!"

Yunho flinches at Mingi's words, and reaches up to cling to his own arm as he backs away from the scene, eyes welling with despair. Hongjoong reaches out to him, and a vine coils gently around his shoulders. "Let's not be that drastic," Hongjoong scolds, eyes glassy with apprehension. "Let's get help for Seonghwa first. Dean O'Kallaghan?"

San touches Seonghwa's arm, only to jerk his hand away with widening eyes. "He's burning up! That's not a good thing...right?"

"Have him brought to the infirmary immediately," Dean O'Kallaghan orders, not quite meeting their eyes. "And all of you leave my office."

"Dean O'Kallaghan—" A lifted hand silences Mingi. At the uncompromising stare in the Dean's eyes, they all turn away. 

Jongho crouches down, and San helps Seonghwa onto his back, allowing him to carry Seonghwa to the door. 

"Dean O'Kallaghan, bring him back— please!" Yunho's voice breaks through the heavy silence, slightly too high-pitched. When his words are met with silence, his shoulders slump and he turns to trudge out of the door after Jongho. In morose silence, the rest follow with Hongjoong quietly shutting the door behind him.

Heavy-hearted, they make their way to the infirmary, and Jongho lays Seonghwa down on the bed. Hongjoong examines him critically, his brow creasing. "It appears like poisoning, but.." he draws a finger over the burnlike wound on Seonghwa's neck. Vines slip from his sleeves, and swiftly pull Seonghwa's shirt off his body to reveal the festering flesh that descended down his shoulder and partway over his upper arm. "Unless he was touched by anything, this shouldn't happen."

"Poison?" San's lip curls into a frown, his eyes narrowing. "You don't think the Dean—" The marbles in his hand grind to a halt with a high-pitched screech.

"I don't think anything," Hongjoong interjects sharply. "What I am saying is that whatever happened to him manifested itself like poison in his body. I highly doubt it is."

A coiling swirl of water leaves Mingi's fingertips and touches Seonghwa's wound. His lips part, and a yell of surprise evokes from his throat as the thread of water is pulled towards the wound, tugging him forward, and near sending him sprawling. 

"Hey!" Fingers encircle his arm, and hefts him back onto his feet. He glances back at Wooyoung, who spares him a frown. "What are you doing? We can't goof off right now!"

"I didn't!" Mingi defends. "I tried to wash off the burn, and it just started pulling me!"

"Pulling you? Don't be daft, it's just a wound!" Wooyoung snaps. "Why would it pull you?"

"Wait!" 

Both Mingi and Wooyoung fall silent as Yunho strides past them to the bedside, hovering his pale hand over Seonghwa's wound. As a faint glow emanates from his skin, his eyes widen. A throbbing red emanates from the flayed flesh, and a hoarse cry leaves Seonghwa's lips as he thrashes on the bed. Yunho lays his glowing hand on Seonghwa's neck, and Seonghwa's pupils blow wide with agony. He abruptly stills, eyes partially lidding over.

Yunho removes his hand with a perplexed glint in his eyes. "There's a magical signature in there for sure, but I don't recognize it." 

"A magical signature? As in he was attacked with magic? But only the Dean would be able to—" San drifts off again at the sharp glance that Hongjoong spares him. He frowns and backs away from the bedside, gripping a marble between his thumb and forefinger, and peering at Seonghwa through the clouded glass. "It's possible that it was Dean O'Kallaghan. He was the only other person in the room, and it couldn't have been Yeosang." 

At his words, Yunho winces, and Jongho reaches out to touch his arm. When San glances over at them, Jongho meets his eyes and shakes his head. 

"Let's say it wasn't Dean O'Kallaghan. What could it have been?"

Wooyoung rakes his fingers through his hair, tousling it roughly with a frustrated groan. "You can debate all you want, but that doesn't exactly hide the fact that we have a casualty on our hands, and the...Imperial Prince—" he spits out the words, as though they were poison, "—is gone."

"As much as I believe you could have been more tactful, you do have a point," Hongjoong responds.

"Of course I do. You should listen to me more often," Wooyoung grunts. 

They fall into an uncomfortable silence until Mingi raises a hand to break it. "Well...then what do we do now?"

"We go back and tell the Dean to send me back to the Empire too," Yunho states. Their eyes fly over to him, and he meets their gazes with a frown. "If you expect me to just leave Yeosang there to do whatever he wants, you're wrong. He'd be in more danger than I am."

"That's certainly true, but—"

"But what?" Yunho interrupts. "He snuck out people on the _execution line_ , Hongjoong. And then he ran away. Even if they don't kill him, he's going to get punished." 

"Execution line for what?" Mingi interjects, voice ricocheting through the infirmary, ridden with indignation. "Trying to take food scraps for your sick family member? Food scraps that were _going to be thrown away?_ " His eyes narrow. "I bet my kith and kin were murdered for less."

Wooyoung crosses his arms over his chest with a nod of agreement. "Which is why _I_ think we should lie low. Seonghwa is hurt, and we're not going to go on a wild groundwyrm chase for... _him_. He clearly went by his own decision." Wooyoung glares at Yunho. "Do you really think that he would be happy if you ran after him?"

"Maybe not, but at least I'd be able to—"

"You'd be able to what?" Wooyoung challenges, eyes blazing as he whirls on Yunho. "Don't forget who you are either. You'd be dragged back into your fancy war brothels like some common whore. Don't act as if _you_ could do anything, _princeling_ ," he spits venomously. Yunho's eyes widen. 

"Wooyoung, that's enough!"

A coiling vine slaps Wooyoung's hand in reprimand as Hongjoong looks from one to the other. "Fighting among ourselves won't help the situation any." He turns to stare at Wooyoung. "You're right. We can't do anything right now, not while we have an injured human at Greenwich." His gaze drifts back to Yunho, and for a few moments, he's silent. He sighs. "And right now there's no way we can ensure Yeosang's safety. But there's no guarantee that we're safe here either."

"Then what do you say we do?" San finally pipes up tentatively. He squints at Seonghwa. "And...how do we help him? There's no nurses right now."

"I say we take him back home. If it's a magic wound, I don't know how a human would be affected. In any case, I'll need a bit of help. Jongho, do you think you can carry him back to Twilight?"

Jongho nods and easily lifts Seonghwa's stiff frame in his arms. He pads towards the door of the infirmary with Hongjoong following in tow. San stares between Wooyoung and Yunho, and quickly grabs Wooyoung's arm to drag him off before he could make another sharp comment. 

Mingi sidles behind Yunho and rests a hand on his shoulder. "Hey…"

Yunho offers him a slight smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. His head swivels away to hide his face as he walks out of the infirmary. "Sorry, Mingi. I'll probably end up saying something I don't mean if I talk to you right now." He rubs the tattooed back of his hand, hiding it from view as he stares absently towards the doors of the building. 

"And I'll know you don't mean it if you say it," Mingi assures. "No one can detect lies better than I do."

Yunho chuckles and turns to stare at him with a slightly raised eyebrow. "Is it because you're a pathological liar?" His pale lips pull back to reveal his teeth in a faint grin as Mingi spares him an offended glance. 

"I am the most honest person on the planet, I don't know what you're talking about." Mingi grins back at him. "But seriously. You can talk to me if you need to." He rests a blue hand on Yunho's shoulder and squeezes it comfortingly. "That was...really rough."

Yunho shrugs noncommittally. "It's not like I can blame him for acting how he does…" he drifts off and meets Mingi's eyes. "Even you, actually. I wouldn't blame you for treating us the same way he does." Yunho elbows the door open and holds it for Mingi. "It's not like you have any reason to be kind."

"Sure I do," Mingi counters. "Elvenkind wronged both of us. You're not above me and I'm not above you. We just exist, and there are no hierarchies at Greenwich. I can hate your kind as much as I want, but it doesn't mean I have to hate the you that I know."

Yunho shrugs and tilts his head back to survey the star-strewn sky. "And how do I know that's not a lie, Mingi?"

"You don't, I guess." He shrugs, and raises his hand, watching idly as an orb of crystalline water swirls into being above his palm. It shines brilliantly in the night as they walk through the dead campus. "But if it's anything to you, I'd do anything for Yeosang. You can trust me on that at least."

A minuscule smile curls onto Yunho's lips and he nods. "Thanks. Even if he doesn't appreciate it, I do." His eyes shift back to the vaguely looming outline of their house.

Wooyoung strides ahead of them and fiddles with the residence gate until it unlocks with an echoing clang over the silent expanse. He pushes the gate open and Jongho scurries past to barge past the haphazardly half-open door and deposit Seonghwa on the couch. With a flick of Wooyoung's fingers, a spark ignites in the fireplace, San slips over to the metal screen and blows it into a crackling fire. Jongho flips the lightswitch, bathing the room in a bright, yellowish light. 

"Yunho, fetch me the medical box," Hongjoong calls out. "And Mingi, come here."

As he sidles over to Hongjoong, the dryad doesn't spare him a glance, too occupied with the wound on Seonghwa's neck and shoulder which had begun to bubble with sickly purplish abscesses. He grimaces and falters back, only to be stopped by a vine curling around his forearm.

"You said that when you tried to wash his wound, it pulled you in?" Hongjoong asks, finally turning to stare at him through vivid, green eyes. The same puzzlement in Mingi's mind reflected off of Hongjoong's placid gaze, and he finds himself nodding. 

"It wasn't really pulling _me_ ," he emphasizes, hooking a finger absently over the string of pearls resting at his neck. "It was pulling the water. It was like it was trying to absorb my magic." His eyes narrow. “I’d know that feeling anywhere.” 

“Absorb…?” Hongjoong frowns and glances back at San. “San, a dagger, please!”

Pulling up his pant leg, San pulls a blade from a leather sheath fastened to his heavily scarred calf. He flicks it towards Hongjoong, who entraps it in a net of vines, and grabs it by the hilt. Hongjoong’s eyes drift back to Seonghwa’s slack face. He grabs his arm, and mutters an apology before slicing shallowly into the fleshy area of his forearm. Crimson blood oozes from the hairline wound, spilling down Seonghwa’s skin in tiny rivulets. 

Mingi streamlines a thin rope of water from his fingertip towards the fresh wound, washing away the blood. He stares at his hand in befuddlement. “That...didn’t do anything. That’s just a normal cut.” 

“As I thought..” Hongjoong accepts his medicine box from Yunho and flips it open, raising a thoughtful knuckle to his lips. A single, white flower on his hand wilts, and flutters to the ground. His gaze darts over to San. “The reason why I don’t think that it’s Dean O’Kallaghan is because pulling down the bulwarks and keeping the barrier gate open is an enervating task. He wouldn’t be able to keep it open and raise a hand against Seonghwa at the same time.” 

“Then what could it have been?” Yunho asks, fiddling with his silver wristband. 

Hongjoong glances down at Seonghwa. “My best guess for the time being is that the gate must have been unstable. Maybe magic lashed out of it and struck Seonghwa. And because he’s a human, he probably hasn’t ever been harmed by magic. Moreover, he’s not a creature of magic like Wooyoung, San, Mingi, or I, and he has no second circulation like you elves.” 

“So he’s not prepared to deal with wounds of magic,” San interjects contemplatively. “It’s like…” 

“Poison,” Wooyoung finishes grimly. “It’s like poison for him.” 

Hongjoong’s eyes narrow at Seonghwa’s bloated, purplish skin. “Precisely.” 

Jongho rakes his fingers through his dark green fringe and crouches down, burying his face in his hands. Yunho glances back at him and worms his way to his side, crouching down beside him and resting a soothing hand on his back. “You can’t blame yourself for not foreseeing this,” he insists calmly. “If it wasn’t for you, we’d have never known that Yeosang and Seonghwa had left to begin with.” 

“Yunho is right,” Hongjoong agrees firmly, rummaging through his box and drawing a long, hollow needle from it. He passes the needle to Wooyoung, who delicately holds it between two dark claws as he dips it into the crackling fire. Hongjoong turns to face Jongho, eyes narrowed. “Fortunately, I’ve seen magic being siphoned out of the wounds of non-magical creatures, so I’m sure I could replicate it safely, but if you hadn’t warned us, we wouldn’t have known until the morning. And by then, there wouldn’t be any guarantee that…” He drifts off and shakes his head, turning back to Seonghwa. 

San crouches down on Jongho’s other side and curls a tentative hand over his knee. “Hongjoong’s right. This isn’t your fault.” Jongho lowers his hands, head hanging, refusing to meet any of their eyes, and San squeezes his knee before snaking his arms around him to wrap him in a comforting hug. 

“San, come here.” Hongjoong accepts the glowing needle from Wooyoung, his fingertips hardening to protect him from the heat as he beckons San with a rogue vine. Immediately, the sylph hops to his feet and pads over to Hongjoong. 

Hongjoong swiftly pierces the bubbling, mass abscess with the needle and holds it steady. “San, be careful, and try and extract the magic from his wound as well as you can without catching any other fluids. And keep it in a controlled space.” Hongjoong glances over at Mingi. “And keep the wound clean, Mingi. It’s going to be messy.” As soon as he finishes speaking, a spurt of yellowish pus bursts from the puncture wound, seeping past the needle. With a grimace, Mingi, snakes out a thread of water from his fingers, cleansing the injury.

As San touches the end of the hollow needle, an orange glow pools at his fingertip. He draws the wispy digit back, pulling the glow along with it and maintaining it in the form of a ball. He winces, his finger curling and his forehead knitting. His jaw tightens, but he keeps his gaze on the needle. Silence hangs thickly enough to cut with a knife as the wound slowly but surely recedes into a blushing, vicious red. San rolls his fingers over the orb of gleaming power, sealing it in its capsule of air before he wordlessly slumps down onto one knee and falls over onto his side. His body hits the floorboards with barely any sound.

“San!” Wooyoung rushes over to lift him upright as Hongjoong catches the orb of magic within a tough, wooden vine. San’s lashes flutter with minuscule wisps of smoke, but he doesn’t respond. Jongho taps Wooyoung’s shoulder, and when he glances up at him, Jongho slips his hands under San, hefting him up in his arms. He jerks his neck towards the staircase, and Wooyoung nods. 

As Jongho disappears upstairs, Hongjoong frowns. He withdraws the needle from Seonghwa’s heavily wounded neck, and Mingi cleans up the stretch of tender flesh. Hongjoong drops the needle into the fireplace, and a plume of green slithers up to dance among the orange flames. He rests a hand on Seonghwa’s forehead, and breathes out a relieved sigh. “His fever is already going down. Hopefully once his wound drains completely, there shouldn’t be any risk of other infections. He’ll be fine.” 

“That isn’t normal.” Attention is drawn back to Mingi as he points a finger at the orb cradled in Hongjoong’s vines. He touches it, only to flinch back, a thread of water pulling from his fingertips and absorbing into the pulsating light. "That probably drained San's magic...I've never seen any natural magic like that!" 

"Yeah, but I've seen a few artificial ones," Wooyoung mutters under his breath. 

Yunho steps past them and reaches for the orb, only to have Hongjoong snap it just out of his reach. "Don't touch that, you don't know how it'll affect you!" Hongjoong's eyes narrow. We'll have to find some other way to dispose of it."

"Dispose of it?" Wooyoung grabs the orb from Hongjoong's vine before he can react, and almost drops it on contact with a yelp of surprise. _"Ow!_ What in the five hells is that thing?" He shakes his hand as though it had burnt him. 

Jongho strides into the living room and looks from one to the other in wide-eyed confusion. His eyes fall on the orb and he tenses.

Before Hongjoong can retrieve the orb, Yunho scoops it up in his hands, holding it carefully. Purplish veins protrude from beneath pearlescent pink skin as he holds it in his grip, and his gaze clouds over, but he keeps a firm hold on it. “Mingi’s right, it’s weird. It’s raw power, but it’s the kind that…” He drifts off and shakes his head, a shiver running down his frame. “It feels _wrong._ ” 

“Which is why you’ll give it back, so I can find a way to dispose of it,” Hongjoong insists, holding out a hand, hardened into a sturdy wood. 

Yunho’s eyes darken and he shakes his head. “No, it’s too dangerous to try and just get rid of!” 

“And it’s too dangerous to give to an _elf_ _,_ ” Wooyoung counters sharply. He holds out a hand. “Give it to me. I’ll make sure no one gets their hands on it if they shouldn’t.”

“You can’t even touch it!” Hongjoong points out. “How would you possibly be able to keep it?”

Yunho steps between them with a frown. "Give it to me. I don’t plan on letting the Imperial Army touch me anytime soon. I’m the best option we have right now.” Yunho turns to stare at Wooyoung pleadingly. “I know you hate me, but this is too dangerous to just have on hand right now. And it’s not like I could do anything with it right now.” 

Jongho steps past Hongjoong and stands beside Yunho with a nod of agreement. Wooyoung’s eyes narrow. “Of course _you’d_ agree with him, elfling.” 

“I think Yunho has a point,” Mingi pipes up, raising a finger. “Out of all of us, he has the best chances of keeping it hidden away. And really, if it’s really as dangerous as it sounds, the only person who’ll get hurt is him.” He glances back at Yunho with a slight grin. “So it’s a win-win if he gets it. It’s not like he’s much of a threat either.” 

“He’s an elf, Mingi, don’t tell me that means nothing to you!” Wooyoung argues. 

Mingi averts his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest. “There’s a reason why he’s in Greenwich, Wooyoung! If he was like _them_ , then he’d be back in the Empire with our heads on battlespikes!”

“Who’s to say he isn’t looking for a good opportunity?” Wooyoung retorts. “Maybe your kind would be willing to bare your necks to these scourges, but I’m not going to get tricked this easily.” He holds his hand out to Hongjoong. “Give me the orb.” 

“Can’t you see that if you can’t even touch it, you can’t contain it? And if you can’t contain it, then the Empire can get their hands on it. Maris knows they haven’t already overstepped their boundaries…” Yunho shakes his head, raising his hands to display the wristbands that matched the choker around his neck. “You made me these to help regulate my second circulation. You have a better chance of controlling me than you do of controlling this.” 

Wooyoung’s eyes narrow. “Fine. But if you start acting up, I won’t hesitate to put a bullet or two through your imperial skull, princeling.” 

A smile crosses Yunho’s lips and he nods. “Sounds about fair to me.” He reaches behind his neck with a hand, and Jongho taps his shoulder. He lowers his hand as Jongho quickly unfastens the choker to reveal a white crystal buried into the skin of his nape. Malignantly protruding veins branch from the focal, up the back of his neck to hide in his hair, and down the stretch of his shoulder blades. Yunho turns his back to Hongjoong and brushes the ends of his hair off his neck, baring the crystal. “Just bring it close.” 

“Yunho, I really don’t think this is a good—”

Yunho glances at him and shakes his head before turning his back once again. With a sigh, Hongjoong raises the orb to Yunho’s neck, and the crystal seems to assimilate the orb, invisible air shell and all. The veins against Yunho’s skin throb, and his eyes widen, pupils dilating as his jaw tightens. His lip catches between his teeth as his fingers curl over his shoulders, digging into his skin. A droplet of indigo blood pools at his lip and drips down his chin. A muffled cry rumbles in his throat.

Wooyoung’s eyes narrow and he clicks his tongue, turning his back to the scene and staring instead into the swaying flames that crackled in the fireplace. 

A rigid gasp elicits from Yunho, and Jongho’s lips curl in distaste as the orb finally disappears entirely into the crystal. As Yunho sways on his feet, gaze unfocused and blank, Jongho stands at his side, steadying him. Mingi drips a stream of water over Yunho’s bloody lip as he absently reaches up to wipe it with his sleeve. He straightens up, only to stumble on thin air, and Jongho quickly guides him to sit down. 

“Happy now, princeling?” Wooyoung mutters, slit-pupilled gaze drifting over to him, roiling with distaste. 

Jongho snaps the choker around Yunho’s neck and the maliciously throbbing veins lull and sink under his skin. Yunho breathes out a relieved sigh and grins at Wooyoung. “Happy as a hellhound with three tails,” he assures, a playful undertone to his hoarse voice. 

“Are you sure you’re doing all right?” Hongjoong worries. He shakes his head and darts for the living room entrance. “Let me fetch you something to eat.” 

Yunho shakes his head, sitting upright in the plush chair. “Never mind the food. Seonghwa’s going to be okay, so that’s taken care of. What are we going to do about Yeosang? We can’t just leave him in the Empire! We have to bring him back.” 

Jongho shakes his head fervently, and Hongjoong looks from one to the other in silence before glancing between Wooyoung and Mingi. “Why don’t you all have a nice, heated discussion over it. I’ll make us some tea.” 

“To hell with your tea, you ancient!” Wooyoung snaps, and a vine darts out to slap the slide of his neck. He winces and scowls. 

Hongjoong dusts his hands against his sweater and fixes Wooyoung with a sharp glance. “Discuss. I’m sure you all have strong opinions on what we should do. I will make us tea,” he repeats sharply.

As Hongjoong disappears from the room, Yunho turns to stare at Wooyoung. “We can’t leave him there.” 

“I already let you have your way too many times, princeling. This time we do what I say, and I say we’re not going anywhere,” Wooyoung retaliates. “I already told you. He’s not going to want you there, and you’re practically useless there anyway.” He throws his arms in the air with exasperation. “You’ve got no plan. You’re just running on your emotions because you feel responsible for the other princeling.” 

Wooyoung strides towards Yunho and jabs a finger against his chest, staring down at him irately. “You weren’t any use to him before, and you won’t be any use to him now. In fact, correct me if I’m wrong,” he spits, “but you’ll just end up as another liability to him if you try run after him.” 

“You—!” 

Before Yunho can rise to his feet, Jongho grabs his shoulder and pins him down onto the chair from behind. Yunho, too wearied, reluctantly remains seated. 

“I don’t like the idea of Yeosang back in the Elven Empire, but Wooyoung has a point,” Mingi agrees, roping a line of water around Wooyoung’s wrist and raising his hand like a puppet. Eyes narrowing, Wooyoung jerks his wrist away. Mingi carries on without a care. “I think that if we’re going to insist on going back, we’ll need a plan.” He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “...although if someone else can make it…” 

“No one’s going to make any plans, because none of us are going anywhere,” Wooyoung insists sharply. 

A tense groan snaps their attention away from their exchange, and Mingi pads over to Seonghwa. He studies him for a moment before poking his side. Seonghwa flinches away from his touch, head turning away from him. At that, another groan evokes from him, and his eyes flutter open. “Where…” 

Jongho darts away from Yunho and stands over Seonghwa, staring down at him with knitted eyebrows. Seonghwa turns to peer up at them and squints against the light, reaching up to cover his eyes weakly. “Jongho…? Mingi—” his eyes blow wide and he sits up abruptly, only to sway with dizziness and fall onto the armrest of the couch, hand reaching up to his wounded neck with a cry of pain. His eyes widen when his hand comes away smeared with blood. 

“What—” A few hoarse coughs leave his lips and he winces. 

Jongho exchanges a look with Mingi, and darts out of the living room before returning mere moments later with an empty glass in his hands. With a flick of his fingers, water pools at the bottom of the glass and it fills halfway. Jongho holds the glass to Seonghwa’s lips, nudging them in a silent urge for him to drink. Seonghwa grimaces, but tentatively obeys nonetheless, tilting his head as far back as his pain tolerance would let him, and taking a few sips of the water. 

Seonghwa’s eyes drift from one to the other, noting their nonhuman forms, and the heavy tension between Yunho and Wooyoung. His gaze regains lucidity as memories flood his mind, and his eyes widen again as he jerks away from the glass with a cough. Jongho firmly slaps his back, only for him to yelp in pain once again. Sheepishly, Jongho lowers his hand as Seonghwa’s eyes dart from one face to another. “Yeosang—” he rasps, features twisting into a grimace once more. “Is he—” 

Yunho looks away, and Wooyoung clicks his tongue in annoyance. Jongho’s purple eyes darken into an almost indigo shade. Mingi shakes his head. “He managed to get through the barrier gate before we could get to him. He’s in the Elven Empire now,” he answers for all of them. 

An unreadable expression crosses Seonghwa’s eyes and he nods his head slowly in understanding before gripping his neck with a wince. The heat of his hand burns against his wound and he groans. Jongho sympathetically presses the glass of water to his neck, and he sighs, basking in the small relief that the coolness brought to him. His eyes swim with confusion. “What happened to me…?” he asks slowly, articulating his words with care. “I remember seeing the...barrier gate, and then…” he drifts off with a wince. 

“You seemed to be attacked by magic,” Hongjoong interjects as he steps into the room with a tray bearing a teapot, cups, and a large bag of potato chips. Hongjoong sets the tray on the coffee table as a flowering vine sprouts from his arm to gesture to his neck. “You were wounded. You might’ve passed out from the pain.” His eyes narrow with concern. “Your human body took it much harder than any of ours.” He tosses the bag of chips to Yunho, who reflexively grabs it and tears it open.

“Maybe because I’m not exactly used to this whole magic thing?” Seonghwa suggests with a wince. Hongjoong pours a cup of crystalline, amber-hued tea, and offers it to him. He shakes his head slowly in refusal. With a nod, Hongjoong instead passes the cup to Yunho. Seonghwa watches him with a frown and lowers his head. “I don’t know why he was so intent on going back to the Elven Empire...the Dean kept implying that it was dangerous.” 

“Why didn’t you tell us if you knew?” Yunho challenges, eyes widening. 

Seonghwa tenses and meets Yunho’s eyes, only to flinch and look away as he touches his neck. “He didn’t want to tell you all! I tried to convince him to, but that didn’t turn out well…” 

As Yunho opens his mouth to retort, Hongjoong shakes his head. “What’s done is done. No matter how much we tell you what you should’ve done, you can’t do anything about it now.” 

A tense silence falls over them, and lightheadedness overcomes Seonghwa again. He instinctively curls up against the corner of the chesterfield, but when Jongho casts him a worried glance, he offers a slight smile of reassurance. _I think I’ll be okay,_ he mouths, and Jongho nods in understanding. Seonghwa closes his eyes, trying to ignore the sizzling pain that burnt over his left side. 

“But now we’re stuck,” Yunho mumbles. “I still say we should go—” 

“And I say that you’re going to rush headfirst into a deathtrap,” Wooyoung snaps, pulling a potato chip from Yunho’s bag and shoving it past his lips to silence him. “You’re only useful when you’re not dead.”

“Dead?” Seonghwa echoes hoarsely, pushing himself upright once again. He sways, blinking owlishly as his vision swims. A hand grips his shoulder and he finds himself guided to lean on Jongho for support. He reluctantly accepts the help, squinting at Wooyoung through unfocused eyes. “Why would you die—”

A sharp look from Wooyoung is enough to silence him and he winces away from the hostile brightness in his eyes.“You’re so naive!” Wooyoung snorts. “Are all humans as naive as you?” Seonghwa’s eyes widen indignantly at Wooyoung’s scathing tone, but as he rises to his feet, the blood rushes down his frame and he stumbles back onto the chesterfield with a weak groan. 

“Wooyoung, please,” Hongjoong sighs, slapping his fingertips with a slim vine. He glances back at Seonghwa. “Your body is still suffering a fever, Seonghwa. You shouldn’t be moving around like that.” 

With a sigh, Seonghwa reluctantly settles down on the couch once more, lips pursed into a thin line.

Wooyoung scowls. “I’m doing him a favour. Not everything is all sunshine and saffloriens. I’m being nice and saving him the disappointment.” His lips contort into a scowl. "If you think it’s a smart idea to go and blurt out everything to an outsider, then don’t hold me responsible for the consequences.” 

“I’m here already, and I’ve probably seen too much to begin with,” Seonghwa points out, rubbing his head with a groan. His body felt terribly cold despite the fire crackling in the fireplace, and his tongue felt unwieldy in his mouth. His neck throbbed, and sweat dripped into his open wound. It was difficult enough to articulate anything, and he knew he was running a temperature. And really, he shouldn’t be picking arguments while feverish, but something inside of him burnt more fervently than his fever, an indignation that he couldn’t explain, as though he was being deprived of something he desperately needed; something that was rightfully his. “I’ll probably get wrapped up in it whether I like it or not.” 

Wooyoung stalks towards him, and reaches into his pocket, and another wave of dizziness overcomes Seonghwa. A glint of silver twinkles out of the corner of his eyes, and something cool presses against his neck. The relief against his skin relaxes him, and he breathes out a sigh.

“Wooyoung, what in the five hells are you doing?!”

Mingi’s cry snaps Seonghwa out of his reverie as Jongho leaps up from his side and tackles Wooyoung to the floorboards, rolling him over and pinning his wrists behind his back. It’s only then that Seonghwa realizes that the silver glint was a _knife_ , that Wooyoung was holding a pocketknife to his neck, He tenses, blood rushing in his ears as his hand rises to his neck. 

Wooyoung glares back at him from under Jongho’s vicelike grip. “If you know too much, then the easiest solution is to get rid of you, don’t you think?” he spits. “Better than letting you get caught up in all this.” 

Mingi frowns and rises to his feet, grabbing Wooyoung's wrist as Jongho pries the knife from his grip. He drags Wooyoung out of the living room despite his vehement complaints, leaving the rest of them in a terse silence. Jongho flips the knife shut and tosses it towards Hongjoong, who catches and pockets it. 

A gasp leaves Seonghwa's throat as he finally draws in a sharp breath, and Hongjoong hurries to his side. Seonghwa stares blearily at him, hand resting protectively over his neck. "You're...all crazy," he mutters, pupils contracting and dilating in their feeble attempts to focus.

"All right. I've decided," Hongjoong states sharply, turning to stare at Yunho. "We'll be staying here until Seonghwa recovers. Then we'll decide what to do about this mess."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we have it. I do love myself an emotionally driven Wooyoung, he's just so refreshing~  
> They're all so much fun to write, honestly, but that's a ramble for another time ;)  
> Thank you all for taking the time out of your day to read this, and I do hope you enjoyed!  
> I'll see you all soon in the next chapter~


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my lovely readers, and welcome to the next chapter!  
> Naturally, first off I want to sincerely thank each and every one of you who's left kudos and thoughtful comments. You really do make my day so much brighter <3  
> Thank you for sticking with me for this long~  
> Without further ado, let's get to the chapter

Bite your lip and bear the pain. That had been the lesson that Hongjoong had taught him since the beginning. And of course, Yeosang’s childish mind couldn’t possibly comprehend why Hongjoong would say such a thing; he was a child, and the world was his playground. He was a prince, and the ground beneath his feet was his empire. 

Now he understood. And bite his lip he did as the cattails, crackling with raw electricity, cut furious, red lines into his abdomen, drawing thin trails of dark blood over his chest, and sending a numbing shock through his nerves. The metal vertebrae that clung together from a rope of magic rises like a serpent and bites into his flesh. His teeth sink into his lip, and a bead of blood escapes from the corner of his lips. His head hangs as he pants, forcing his mind away from the burning pain and instead focusing on his breaths. It was only a punishment. It was a small price to pay. And he had certainly suffered worse. 

Yeosang had long lost count of the lashes he had received. The pain blinded his senses, and left him hanging weakly from the shackles that pinned his wrists and ankles to the wall like some criminal lowlife. He was only fortunate that his parents cared too much about their royal reputability to have him publicly flogged. Somehow the darkness of the correctional rotunda, the dankness of the stifling air, the coldness of the steel walls was comforting. There was little they would be able to do to get to Earth, and now that he was back, they had little reason to try. 

His muscles clench as the disciplinarian strikes him. From the drag of the spikes, skin falls away from his flesh in pink shreds. He grits his jaw, squeezes his eyes shut, refuses to give the satisfaction of pain to the disciplinarian. Here, titles were titles in name alone, and the Empire was the law. Hongjoong had taught him that his princehood meant nothing, and he had to learn it the difficult way. A stream of tears escapes from the corner of his eye as he compels himself through sheer willpower to remain silent. 

It could have been minutes, just as it could have been hours since he had been dragged to the throne room and forced to his knees in front of the king and queen: his parents, but also complete strangers. Yeosang was a prince only in name, and the Empire was the law. He had transgressed, and he was being disciplined for it. He could bear it. His head jerks to the side abruptly as a gauntleted hand slaps him across the cheek. He bears it in silence. 

By the time the disciplinarian leaves him, he's little but a bloodied body hanging on coldly glinting shackles in the room. He lifts his head lethargically to peer around at his surroundings. The dome was locked in, a soundproof area where punishments could be carried out without disturbance. Yeosang licks his split lip and raises his head as far as he could before slumping once more, too exhausted to keep himself upright. 

The silence bore down on him like boulders, with only his breaths and the grinding of the chains to the humming of the mechanisms that pinned him in place. He couldn't escape it he tried—the shackles were bound by a current of magic running through serpentine wires across the floor and up the walls. The wires connected to a selection of humming monitors that projected holographic screens by the entrance of the dome, while the remaining space was strewn with disciplinary instruments: whips, pincers, brands, and a whole plethora of viciously serrated tools.

Yeosang hangs on the brink of unconsciousness in the excruciating silence with only his heartbeat to keep him company, but he was losing sense of even that. His tongue clung to the roof of his dry mouth, and a rattling sigh leaves his lips, breaking off into a gracelessly hacking cough as the hazy craving for water dawns on his chest. He grimaces as his split lip tears open once more, and laps up the indigo blood. It wasn't water, but it was something.

He raises his head weakly as the emblem branding the door of the correctional rotunda lights up, and the doors slide open with a mechanical keen. He winces as light floods the dome, and turns his head away. 

"Imperial Prince Grantz," an unfamiliar voice calls to him, and he grasps onto it with what remained of his frayed senses, managing a half-groan in response. Footsteps scuttle over the floor and the humming of the monitors grows to an unbearable buzzing in Yeosang's ears. He grimaces, letting his head hang to hide his battered face. The shackles around his ankles and wrist suddenly glow and click open, and he crumples onto the cold floor. A sharp intake of breath registers in his mind as the footsteps dash towards him. "Imperial Prince Grantz!"

A pair of hands help him to his feet, and out of the corner of his eye, he catches a glimpse of a familiar, sweeping sigil tattooed onto the unfamiliar elf's dark blue hand. He stumbles in the elf's grasp, and grimaces as his ankle buckles, his neck burning with shame. He lets the elf take his arm and sling it over his shoulders, unable to find it in him to lift his head. "Where…" he coughs. "Where are you taking—"

"Don't talk! Just let me help you, Imperial Prince Grantz," the elf insists, wrapping his free hand around Yeosang's waist to support him as he directs him towards the entrance of the correctional rotunda. Yeosang limps heavily on his right foot, but manages to keep himself upright against his newfound aide. His eyes widen as a sheer, white veil is thrown over his head, shielding him from direct light and from scrutiny as he steps out of the facility. 

Head bowed, he allows himself to be led through the stone-paved road teeming with elves that didn't seem to notice him at all. The sounds of twittering gossips, vociferous shouts, and humming vehicles override his tired ears, and he pauses for a moment to just gather himself, fighting to remain conscious. 

"Just hold on a little longer," the voice beside him assures, and the hand at his waist tightens, as though to ground him. Yeosang winces and defiantly takes another step. He keeps his gaze affixed to the ground beneath him, directing the scraps of his remaining energy to setting one foot before the other, until he reaches the steel aircoach, bound by a glimmering, silver harness to a lithe, white wyvern. As the draconian creature peers down at him through piercing, blue eyes, he feels himself grow lightheaded, and he sways on his feet. 

The elf beside him mutters a few words to the wyvern before guiding him into the streamlined aircoach, and sitting him down on the soft, plush seat. He slumps back, finally taking the opportunity to look at the elf's face, only for his vision to blur as the aircoach's wings extend from its fuselage as the wyvern takes to the air. 

"You can sleep now, Imperial Prince Grantz," the elf assures him. "We're going back to your home now."

Home…? What an odd concept, Yeosang couldn't help but think as he slumps over onto the plush seat, basking in the softness after hours of being shackled upright. He had tried so hard to get away from Greenwich, but he was being taken back? Before Yeosang has the chance to ponder, his consciousness slips away from him, dragging him down into a comforting darkness. 

  
  
  
Perhaps hours later, Yeosang comes to with a jolt, only to wince and groan as a throbbing pain radiates through his body, from his neck down to his toes. He slowly pushes himself upright, only for his elbows to lose their strength. He falls back onto the cushions beneath him, and breathes out a taut sigh. 

He opens his eyes to find that he had been stripped of his sweater, and was now loosely clad in a set of his favourite apple green robes that rested lightly against his skin. His wounds had been tended to, and he had kindly been bandaged up. Yeosang struggles upright to take in his surroundings, and relaxes when he's met with the familiarity of his quarters. Slowly, he rises to his feet, wincing as a lance of pain shoots through his head.

"Imperial Prince Grantz!"

Yeosang grimaces and slowly turns to face the newcomer that rushes over to his side, helping him sit down on the silk bedcushions once again. He peers up at the elf helping him, frowning at the translucent face veil that hung delicately over his nose and mouth. The elf scurries to a pitcher of water on a delicately carved table, and pours a glass. Yeosang accepts it as it's handed to him, and takes a careful sip. 

The elf studies him with concern before his eyes widen and he drops down onto one knee, a single braided lock of white hair from behind his pierced ear descending from the short tuft on his head, and sweeping the floor. Embedded at the nape of his neck, the white crystal glimmers a mockery at Yeosang. "My deepest apologies, Imperial—"

Yeosang waves him off with a frown. "Enough of that 'Imperial Prince Grantz' business," he rasps, voice gravelly from disuse. He breaks into coughs, and the elf hurries back to his side, concern shining in citrine eyes. Yeosang shakes his head. "I'm fine," he quickly assures. "But...no more Imperial Prince nonsense. Just Yeosang is fine."

"Prince Yeosang then," the elf compromises, and Yeosang offers only a noncommittal shrug. He'd take what he could get. 

Yeosang stares down into his glass of water with a bleary frown. Closing his eyes, he tilts his head back, and upends the glass onto his face, drawing in a sharp breath at the coldness that bites his senses. He shakes his head and opens his eyes, setting the glass on the floor and slicking his hair out of his face. As his vision ceases to swim, he turns his gaze onto the blue elf and bows his head. “Thank you for helping me.” 

“Not at all!” the elf responds, raising his hands and shaking his head. Although he was looking towards Yeosang, it discomfited him to find that the elf would not meet his eyes. “It was an order from the Crown—” 

“The Crown?” Yeosang’s eyes narrow. “Why would the Crown send you?” His gaze drifts over to the elf’s hand that curled into a nervous fist. “They could have easily sent a mage.” He rises to his feet and looks the elf up and down before breathing out a resigned sigh and turning his back to him. “You look familiar...do I know you?”

There’s a shuffle of feet behind him, and he glances back to find the elf’s eyes downcast, a neutral frown plastered over his round lips. “I’m His Imperial Majesty’s favourite concubine, so it’s possible you’ve seen me before.” 

Yeosang tenses, and turns his head away. “Your name?”

“Yeonjun, Prince Yeosang.” 

As another lance of pain sears through Yeosang’s head, he winces and reaches up to rub his temple. With a rough sigh, he turns back to Yeonjun and delicately settles himself down on his bedcushions. He tilts his head up to stare at Yeonjun and shakes his head. “Just what, exactly, does the Crown hope to achieve by sending a concubine to me?” he asks, a thread of irritation weaving in his chest. If he were a little less controlled, then perhaps he would have snapped at Yeonjun, but it wasn’t the elf’s fault. 

“That, I can’t rightly answer,” Yeonjun responds, turning his head away. “It’d be disrespectful.” 

Yeosang shakes his head. “Yeonjun,” he states evenly, “if you’ve been in the palace for long, you should know that there’s no need to be afraid of disrespecting me.” He catches Yeonjun’s gaze as it flickers over to him, and holds it insistently. “Say what you want, and leave if you want to. I’m not going to do anything to you.” 

“I can’t do that,” Yeonjun responds, lowering himself to his knees once more and reaching out to take Yeosang’s hand. He touches Yeosang's knuckles against his veil over his lips, and then presses them to his forehead. “I’ve been sworn to serve the Imperial Prince.” 

Flinching, Yeosang pulls his hand away from Yeonjun and stares blankly at him. “And I don’t need your service,” he retorts, only a little too sharply. “You can go back to the king. Send him my regards and regrets for being unable to accept his gift.” 

Yeonjun remains on his knees, but lifts his head to meet Yeosang’s eyes. Yeosang’s brow furrows, as the piercing stare almost coerces him into looking away, but backing down here would bring shame to his already shameful name. He didn’t need one more topic for the court to laugh at his face for. He defensively wraps an arm over his bandaged waist. Yeonjun shakes his head. “The Royal Tutor hasn’t been found.” 

“Royal Tutor?” Yeosang’s eyes widen as realization dawns on him. “You mean Hongjoong?”

“The dryad, yes,” Yeonjun affirms. “And because he’s gone, I’ve been unofficially assigned to take over his duties. I'm not permitted to leave by your dismissal."

A flicker of indignation rises in Yeosang’s chest, and he rises abruptly to his feet, staring down at Yeonjun. “You mean to tell me that the Crown sent me a _concubine_ to take over Hongjoong’s duties?” Yeonjun’s gaze sharpens at the dismay in his voice, but he doesn’t rise from the floor as he nods. 

“I’m well-versed, Prince Yeosang. I won’t be too much of a disappointment.” 

Yeosang shakes his head. “Yeonjun...please leave. I’ll call you when I need you.” To his relief, Yeonjun nods, and hastily takes his leave. Once Yeosang hears the click of the door, he breathes out a tired sigh and slumps against his desk, raking his fingers through his hair. The presence of his father’s favourite concubine likely meant that eyes would be kept on him at all times. Whatever freedom had been within his grasp before was all but gone. He did understand that he had willingly walked back into this gilt prison, but it didn’t mean he was pleased by any means. He straightens up and pads over the carpet, pulling aside the sheer, green curtains to step out onto the balcony. 

The sight that met his eyes was as nostalgic as it was estranging, of sleek, towering buildings, crafted into magnificent, sweeping arches and billowing, metallic spirals. Magic permeated through the land as far as his elven eye could see, glimmering from every surface and riding on the wings of the aircoach wyverns and galleon whales that swept the tallest towers as they carried their elven passengers and cargo, cutting dark silhouettes before the ringed sun. Yeosang reaches a hand out to touch a spiral of glittering, magic exhaust, only for it to breeze through his fingers like wind. Useless. 

His fingers curl back into his hand and he leans against the metallic rail of the balcony, fingers tracing the runic lettering engraved into the bars. He draws in a slow breath, and winces as his bandages rub against the bars. The murmuring of machinery was a constant, even from such a high altitude, from the hums of the locomotives that glided through the resplendent metropolis, to the glowing, labyrinthine conduit system that wove through the groundscape. Yeosang couldn’t complain about the convenience of technology, but it was just as easily a vice as it was a virtue. 

Yeosang closes his eyes, and allows the cooling breeze to tickle his lashes as it sweeps past, easing the soreness of his bruised cheek. He was trapped here now. He couldn’t risk attempting to contact the Clockworker, lest it draw the attention of the Empire to Greenwich, and consequently, to Earth. If there was nothing more he could do, then it would be wise of him to bide his time. 

Yeosang quietly retreats behind the curtains, and grabs an inscribed talisman, sealing the curtain shut to the outside. He drags himself over the carpet and lifts the pitcher of water that Yeonjun had left behind, pouring himself a glass. He raises it to his lips, prepared to take a sip, but pauses just as his breath fogs the corner of the crystal. A droplet of condensation falls onto his lip. Yeosang lowers the glass onto the tabletop with a frown and clears his throat. “Yeonjun!” 

Almost scarily on cue, his door clicks open, and Yeonjun steps inside with a swift bow. “Prince Yeosang?”

Yeosang dips a fingertip into his glass of water, and it comes away encrusted in a thin, coruscating film that clings to his pearlescent skin. He turns to stare at Yeonjun, his eyes darkening into a steel grey. “What is the meaning of this?”

He would have felt satisfaction at the way Yeonjun’s face visibly pales if he wasn't teeming with hollow disappointment. He should have known better than to assume that the crown would let him off with something as simple as a beating. His eyes narrow as Yeonjun fumbles for words, lips parted like a fish. “Prince Yeosang, that is…”

“I know what any poison you could possibly put in front of me looks like, Yeonjun.” With a grimace of distaste, he wipes the gelatinous residue off on his bandages. “I just want to know why.”

* * *

“I’m fine now—promise,” Seonghwa croaks as he staggers down the staircase, both hands clinging stubbornly to the handrail. 

“You look like you have one foot in the grave,” Wooyoung retorts from beside him, human arms crossed stubbornly over his chest with Seonghwa's blanket draped over the crook of his elbow.

Seonghwa spares him a half-hearted glare. “You held a knife to my neck yesterday—of all the people here, I don't want you telling me that.” He flinches as Wooyoung rests a hand on his forehead for the briefest of moments before drawing back with a frustrated sigh.

“Look, I’m sorry. I got carried away. But the longer you insist on running around and not getting better, the more Yunho is going to bug me about going back to the Empire, and if I have to hear it one more time, gods help me, I _will_ throw him off the Dean’s turret. So hurry up and rest and get better…?” Wooyoung keeps his eyes averted, and Seonghwa would’ve almost been amused, was he not currently still peeved at him, and suffering a terrible case of not having his emaciated limbs listen to his mind.

Seonghwa takes another painstaking step before turning to meet Wooyoung’s eyes. He rummages through his pocket and draws out a piece of paper, neatly folded into quarters. “Tell you what. You do me a favour, and go grab me everything on this list from the canteen kitchen, and I’ll rest up as best as I can. I’ll even keep Yunho occupied for you.” 

Wooyoung’s eyes widen at the proposition, and he snatches the list from Seonghwa’s hand. “Done. But you’d better hold up your end of the bargain.” 

Before Seonghwa can stop him, he tosses the blanket over his shoulders, scurries down the staircase, and bolts out of the house. An amused smile curls onto Seonghwa’s lips as he rubs his bandaged neck tiredly. He had figured that Wooyoung couldn’t be a _completely_ awful person after he had profusely apologized to him the moment he had regained consciousness. Wooyoung had to be dragged out of his room by an exasperated Mingi, and Jongho had silently assured him that he would dropkick Wooyoung down the stairs if he attempted anything remotely threatening again. It had taken Seonghwa a concerning amount of time to convince him that it really _was_ fine, and there was no need to dropkick anyone down anything.

“What are you doing?”

Seonghwa blinks lethargically as someone darts to his side to support him, holding his blanket around his frame. He turns to face San and offers him a lopsided smile. “I’m getting some fresh air and exercise,” he replies offhandedly. "Or I'll atrophy in the bedroom."

"What does that mean?" San asks curiously, and Seonghwa just reaches up to ruffle his hair with one hand. 

"It means I want to move around or I'll die," he jokes, only for San to nod seriously in agreement. 

"I hate not being able to move around," he concurs aloud, keeping his arm looped around Seonghwa's for extra support. "Being confined is the worst feeling." He shudders before offering Seonghwa a kindly smile. "But Hongjoong said you're still sick, so you shouldn't push yourself too hard."

Seonghwa breathes out a chuckle that sends a wave of dizziness through him. He pauses at the foot of the stairs and nods. "I won't," he promises. "But doing anything is better than just laying in bed."

He allows San to guide him to the living room before sitting down on the chesterfield with a relieved sigh. He wraps himself snugly in the blanket and peers over at San as he hurries over to the fireplace to strike up a fire. Seonghwa chuckles and pulls his knees to his chest, curling himself into a blanket-wrapped ball on the couch. "Thanks, San."

San glances back at him with a cheerful smile. "Of course." 

As Seonghwa watches, San darts from one space to another, straightening pillows, dusting off the shelves, and needlessly straightening the statuettes scattered around the living room. Although Seonghwa would have joined him in his meticulous cleaning spree, he had little to no energy, and watching him move so vigorously was exhausting. Seonghwa rests his cheek on his knee and holds out a hand. "San, it's fine, the room is clean," he assures. "Sit down." San seemed almost prepared to argue, but to Seonghwa’s relief, he nods and pads back to sit beside him, legs crossed on the sofa. 

Seonghwa turns to face him, and San only hums absently to himself, gaze distracted. He reaches into the pocket of his pants for his marbles, and restlessly clicks them together in his hand. Seonghwa frowns. “San, Jongho told me you passed out yesterday too. Are you sure you’re all right?”

“Hm…?” San glances back at him, and confusion crosses his gaze before realization dawns. He nods. “Oh, yeah, don’t worry about me,” he smiles. “It was nothing. You were hurt, so I just did what I had to.” 

With a frown, Seonghwa shifts to rest his cheek against the backrest of the couch. He meets San’s eyes and shakes his head. “You should be more careful. I don’t know much about how magic works and all that, but if you got really hurt, it’d worry me. A lot.” His eyes darken. Perhaps it was presumptuous of him to assume that San’s unconsciousness was his fault, but some part of him couldn’t quite abandon the creeping feeling that he had been making an awful lot of mistakes lately. 

San’s eyes widen with surprise, and Seonghwa’s frown deepens. For a few moments, San doesn’t respond to him, and he swears he can see bemusement scattered in their black depths. Before Seonghwa can speak, San turns to look at him curiously. “Why would you worry about someone like me?” he asks, and the sincere mystification in his voice catches Seonghwa off guard. His brow knits. 

“Why wouldn’t I worry about you?” Seonghwa counters. He shakes his head. “Someone like you, someone like me… what’s with all that?” He frowns. “So what if you’re different from me? We’re both breathing the same air and living from day to day, aren’t we?” He wraps his blanket snugly around his shoulders. “If I never saw your actual forms, I would’ve just thought you were all humans like me.” 

A slight grin pulls onto San’s lips as dimples indent his cheeks, and he meets Seonghwa’s eyes. “Humans are strange,” he chirps. “I never thought of being on the same level as everyone else before.” 

Seonghwa shrugs idly. “Levels...whatever. Everyone deserves respect. You could be a sentient worm or Maris herself, and I’d still have to respect you. If I don’t, that just makes me a bigot.” When San actually laughs at his words, his eyes soften. “My point is, I worry about you because it’s normal to be concerned for someone that fainted no matter who...or what they are.” 

“How strange,” San chuckles, and this time he doesn’t seem to notice Seonghwa’s frown.

Seonghwa closes his eyes and breathes out a sigh. “Hey, San?”

“Yes?”

“Aren’t you close with any of the others?” Seonghwa couldn’t help but ask. He could sense the fine thread that held them all together somehow, but it was largely overshadowed by some discomfortable imbalance. As though they were practically strangers to each other although they were all tenants of the same property. If the previous night hadn’t been evidence enough of their tension, Seonghwa wasn’t sure what would be.

San shrugs before shaking his head. “Not really.” He smiles. “As long as I stay out of the way and do what I’m supposed to, everything’s all right anyway.” Seonghwa falls silent at that, and San offers him a sympathetic smile. “Not everyone is as nice as you are.” 

Seonghwa’s lips purse into a thin line. “I don’t know...aside from being threatened at knifepoint, I think they’re all pretty okay.” As San shifts his weight in his seat, one of his marbles falling from his hand and rolling into his lap, Seonghwa decides not to push the topic much further. 

Fortunately, their silence doesn’t last too long, as the creaking of the door cuts through the oppressive air, followed by a few choice curses and the sound of objects falling onto the floor in cacophonous thuds. Seonghwa lifts his head as San darts off the couch, returning a few moments later with a few baskets of ingredients in his arms, and one balanced with an astonishing stillness atop his head. He flashes a bewildered look at Seonghwa as Wooyoung drags in a few more baskets stacked neatly one atop the other.

“You wanted these?”

Seonghwa’s eyes widen and he abandons his blanket on the couch, rushing over to them and taking two baskets from Wooyoung’s arms. “I didn’t need _this_ much!”

“Hey, better safe than sorry,” Wooyoung retorts shamelessly. Seonghwa rolls his eyes and leans against the wall to support himself and his current armful of supplies. With a snort, Wooyoung grabs the baskets back from him with ease. "I'm going to put these in the kitchen or something. You go sit down."

Seonghwa rolls his eyes at the gruff tone of Wooyoung's voice. "Dry ingredients can go in the larder, and the rest can go in the fridge!" He calls after Wooyoung's retreating back before breaking into a hoarse cough. San eyes him worriedly, but darts after Wooyoung to help pack away the food. 

"Look at that, you're learning how to tame the saplings well." Seonghwa yelps and jumps as a hand curls over his shoulder, whirling around to face Hongjoong, only to stumble on his feet. It had been a small while since that had happened. Hongjoong grabs him by the wrist and raises an eyebrow up at him. "Shouldn't you be resting?"

"When did you get there?" Seonghwa huffs, raising a hand to his chest. "Giving the sick person heart attacks isn't recommended treatment, Hongjoong."

"Very funny." Hongjoong gestures towards the chesterfield. "Running around and carrying heavy things also isn't recommended treatment, Seonghwa. You may be recovering, but that's no excuse to make yourself sick again," he easily bites back with a too-pleasant smile. "I'd hate to have to treat you again because you aren't taking good care of yourself."

Seonghwa's ears warm and he shakes his head slowly to avoid the dizziness. "You really didn't need to—sorry for causing trouble." He pads over to the sofa and sits himself down with a sigh. "You shouldn't worry so much."

Hongjoong rests a hand on his knee, an unreadable expression crossing his gaze before he shakes his head and looks away. “Seonghwa, you head upstairs and rest for a bit. I’ll wake you up for dinner.”

“You’re going to keep bugging me unless I listen, won’t you,” Seonghwa sighs. When he receives a smile and a nod, he rises to his feet with his blanket pooling around him like a cape. “All right, I’ll listen. But only so you can find someone else to nag. I think Wooyoung might be a good start." A smirk creeps onto his lips as he makes his way out of the living room.

He languidly makes his way up the staircase and pulls himself down the corridor to his room. As he opens the door, Jongho glances up at him from his desk, and Seonghwa offers him a wry smile. "Still studying?" When he receives a noncommittal shrug in response, Seonghwa breathes out a hoarse sigh and flops gracelessly down on his bed. "Hongjoong told me to go rest. You really can't argue with him, can you?"

Jongho shrugs again, and Seonghwa rolls over on the bed to grab his phone. He blinks owlishly at the blinking notification and opens up his texts to find responses from his friends and family, casual and cheerful, as though he hadn't messaged them days before. He frowns. "Time really is warped here," he muses, more to himself than to Jongho. Nonetheless, he quietly taps out a response and then sets the device back onto his desk. 

He rolls onto his back and rests a forearm on his forehead, peering at the ceiling through lidded eyes. "Jongho, why are you all even here? What happened in your world that was bad enough for you to come here? And why a college?" He closes his eyes. "I have so many questions, but I still never know what to ask."

The scraping of Jongho's pen ceases and Seonghwa winces at the creak of his chair as he turns to presumably face him. Rolling onto his side, Seonghwa opens his eyes to peer over at him. Jongho meets his eyes before shaking his head and shrugging once more. Seonghwa watches absently as Jongho rises to his feet, pen and papers in hand and pads over. The mattress dips as Jongho sits down on the edge. He lazily eyes Jongho's notes, scrawled in neat script over the pages. 

Jongho takes a minute to scribble over his paper and pats it down beside Seonghwa before returning to whatever it was he was doing. It was such a small gesture, but Seonghwa couldn't help the warmth that would spread over his chest whenever Jongho would willingly take the time to accommodate his questions, although it meant physically scrawling answers down on paper. None of the others seemed to have any difficulty communicating with him, and since Seonghwa couldn't attribute it to their closeness, he deduced that it must be magic. Seonghwa reaches for the paper, and smooths it over with his thumbs.

_Everyone has their own situation. But here we can all study and work in peace, and that's all I wanted. I couldn't have that back in the Empire._

Seonghwa frowns at the cryptic response that somehow managed to answer his questions without truly answering it. He supposed it wasn't right of him to press answers out of Jongho if he didn't want to answer. His gaze flickers over to Jongho's papers, idly skimming his annotations on a draft of some kind of paper. His work was neat and immaculate; Seonghwa wasn't surprised that he was an honours student. His eyes glide over the signature inked gracefully at the end of the final page. He stops short and stares at it. 

Eyes widening, Seonghwa sits up abruptly and reflexively grabs Jongho's papers. He winces, squeezing his eyes shut as dizziness flows over him. When he feels Jongho's hand tugging the papers from his grasp, he quickly wrenches it out of his reach and riffles to the final page to stare at the signature. His lips part as a gasp escapes his throat, and he whips around to fix Jongho with a disbelieving stare. "What's this?" He jabs a finger at the elegant lines that clearly displayed an eerily familiar S. Kal.

Jongho's brow furrows and his gaze darkens with exasperation as he grabs the paper that he had given Seonghwa before, scrawling irritably down on it before turning it towards him. 

_Give me my papers back. I asked Dean O'Kallaghan to critique my draft of my undergraduate thesis. That's his signature. I don't see what you're making such a big deal over._

The blood drains from Seonghwa's face at Jongho's words. He shakily pushes the papers back into Jongho's arms before scrambling for the letter that he had left on his desk. He unfolds it and stares at the signature inscribed at the end of the lengthy writing. His fingers tighten on the paper, crumpling it at the edges as he gapes at the cursive lettering that perfectly mirrored the signature on Jongho's papers. S. Kal. _Saturnus O'Kallaghan._

Jongho peers over his arms and Seonghwa lifts his head to stare at him in disbelief. "This is some kind of joke, right? This...this letter was from my grandfather."

Jongho's eyes mirror his own, shock filling them as they slowly widen. His lips part and he jumps off the bedside, tossing his papers onto his desk. Jongho's hand loops around his wrist. An irritated look crosses Jongho's eyes and he reaches down, sweeping Seonghwa up by the knees with intimidatingly little effort. With a cry of surprise, Seonghwa's arms naturally shift to stabilize himself, and the letter flutters down from his grasp. Jongho grabs it in his free hand and rushes out of the bedroom, letter in one hand, Seonghwa in the other. 

Seonghwa huffs out a surprised breath as Jongho deposits him on a chair in the living room, raising the eyes of the others from a game of cards to him. Jongho thrusts the letter into his hands and gestures towards the others with an insistent frown. Seonghwa winces. "Really? We couldn't have waited until I don't feel like my insides want to eat me?"

"Something tells me that's not biologically possible, but if you say so," Mingi chirps, only to be soundly whacked on the head by Hongjoong's switch. He pouts and rubs his head as Wooyoung looks on with amusement-riddled eyes. 

Hongjoong lays his cards facedown on the table and tilts his head at Seonghwa. "Is there a problem?"

"If you call discovering that the Dean is your potential grandfather a problem, then yes." Seonghwa rubs his throbbing temple tiredly as he waves the letter towards Hongjoong. "Yes, there's a big problem."

"The _what_ is your _what now?"_ Wooyoung stares at him as though he had grown a second head, although for all Seonghwa knew, second heads weren't even an uncommon sight for him. He sidles over to Seonghwa and snatches the letter from his grip, while the others crowd around him like a pack of curious puppies to peer down at the writing. 

"That...is the Dean's signature," Yunho finally breaks the incredulous silence with a cough. He turns to squint at Seonghwa. "But…"

Seonghwa throws his arms up with exhaustion. "Take it however you want, because I don't know what to think of it." He grimaces and covers his eyes for a few moments before breathing out a sigh, shoulders slumping. "I've never been contacted by my grandfather before. And now I find out that this is the Dean's signature. But it's my grandfather's signature."

They exchange looks with each other before Hongjoong sits down and folds his hands in his lap with a delicate frown on his lips. "But if that's true, then your presence here…"

Seonghwa's eyes widen at the implication, and he lowers his hand to stare at each of them in turn, his brow knitting. "You're not saying that—" Their eyes meet, and Seonghwa feels the strength drain from his legs. Never had he been more thankful to be seated than he was now. "No way… there's no way."

"Why would Dean O'Kallaghan ever bring a human into Greenwich?" Mingi muses. "We've never had human students before." He turns his gaze curiously onto Seonghwa. "Unless you're not…?" He drifts off.

A cold dread washes over Seonghwa and he closes his eyes. "I don't know what you're talking about," he mutters. "I don't. I'm a human." His gaze sharpens as he looks up at them, attempting to quell the aggravated pounding of his heart. His vision blanks as dizziness overtakes him, and a wave of nausea spills over his skin. He shudders and shakes his head. "I'm not like you all! I'm a human. I can't do magic—I didn't even know that your kind existed until a few days ago! My biological parents are both human." He touches his bandaged neck, his gaze darting desperately to Hongjoong. "You said I got this fever because my human body wasn't used to contacting magic—"

"That is true," Hongjoong murmurs thoughtfully, raising a knuckle to his lips. "But if Dean O'Kallaghan really is the one who signed your letter…" he drifts off, mumbling something or another under his breath. "And Dean O'Kallaghan is, without a doubt, an elf…" His eyes glaze over as he loses himself in thought, and Seonghwa closes his eyes once again, burying his head in his hands to shut away the sensory overload that threatened to make him vomit. He could handle being sent to a strange college. He could handle cohabitation with magical beings. He could handle strange concepts of other dimensions and rifts in reality itself. At least he had himself that he could rely on, but now it seemed as though he was losing even that. 

"Everyone, you're overwhelming him!" Attention is drawn to San as he hops to his feet and stands in front of Seonghwa, arms outstretched to shield him from the attention. From beside Seonghwa, Jongho’s eyes soften. 

Hongjoong meets San’s insistent gaze before nodding. “You’re right. That was impulsive of me, I’m sorry,” he apologizes. His gaze drifts over to Seonghwa. “Should we leave you for a bit? We have time, and this must be a lot for you.”

“That’s the biggest understatement I’ve heard since I arrived,” Seonghwa groans, gently nudging San out of his path as he rises to his feet. “It doesn’t matter any more—this world isn’t going to slow down for me.” He meets Hongjoong’s eyes firmly. “I’m going to see Dean O’Kallaghan. I want answers.”

“But you’re still sick!” Wooyoung interjects, his eyes widening. “I already told you, you bastard, don’t go running—” Mingi grabs his wrist and Wooyoung falls silent with a click of his tongue. 

Seonghwa rubs his bandaged neck absently, his eyes narrowing. “It’s just a fever—it’ll go away eventually.” His eyes narrow. “But I need answers. I need to see the Dean.” His hand tightens over his shoulder. “I can’t believe anything… You’re all real when you’re not supposed to be.” He rakes his fingers through his hair. “I can’t be related to an _elf_ , it would’ve shown somehow, right…?”

He tenses when Yunho reaches out and rests a hand on his forehead. His eyes flash silver before fading back to a dark brown. Seonghwa winces and falters back, away from his reach. "What—"

"No magic," Yunho declares, his brow creasing. "Maybe he's an aberrant?"

"Of course I have no magic! I'm a human! Human born and raised!" He rests a hand on his chest and stumbles back onto the chair once again, looking from one face to another. 

Yunho reaches towards him once more, but this time it's Jongho who grabs Yunho by the wrist with a terse shake of his head. Seonghwa groans and buries his face in his hands. "I should've left when I had the chance, right," he mutters. "This is too much…"

Silence falls on them, and Seonghwa doesn't raise his head, lest he see the pitying looks in their eyes. The hollowness of losing his own perception of himself left him feeling drained and devastated. If he had just chosen to take Jongho's advice and the Dean's offer, perhaps he could have been preparing for his studies elsewhere, settling in with his human roommates, and doing normal things that normal people his age were supposed to do. 

"Hey!" Seonghwa tenses and winces as a hand grabs his chin and he finds himself looking up into Wooyoung's eyes. Wooyoung brazenly squishes the sides of his mouth with an irritated glint in his eyes. "You're the one who decided to stay—we're the ones that wanted you out of here. So if you're going to act like that then deal with the consequences," he grits out. "You can't run away forever now that you know. Even if you did try to leave now, you'd be plagued by this for the rest of your pathetic life." Wooyoung releases him and Seonghwa's eyes narrow. 

"I never asked for this! How should I have known? How _could_ I have known?" Seonghwa grimaces. "I never wanted this."

"Well we never get what we want, do we?" Wooyoung sneers. He opens his mouth to speak, but before any more words can leave his lips, a sharp gasp escapes San's lips, snapping their attention to him. 

Seonghwa's brow furrows as he follows the direction of San's bug eyes to Jongho in time to see him scrabbling at his eyes with the heels of his hands. Indigo pools at the corners of his eyes and trickles down his cheeks in warm rivulets. It only smears messily over his cheeks as he swipes at it in attempts to clear it away.

Seonghwa frowns and rises to his feet, wincing as he stumbles towards the shelf to grab a tissue from a brass box. He makes his way back to Jongho worriedly, fighting back the urge to flinch as Jongho's eyes pale into that sinister white as he cries bloody tears. He hesitates, and San grabs the tissue from his hand, reaching up to wipe away the blood that drips down Jongho's chin. With a frown, Seonghwa relents and takes a step back.

Jongho's voice pulls itself out of his throat like a beast crawling out of a pit, and Seonghwa comes to a harsh understanding of what he had meant when he claimed that this voice was not his own. Seonghwa's brow furrows as a sob elicits from Jongho's lips. Jongho turns his back to them, shoulders shaking as he muffles his scream with a hand. San stands next to him, a hand on his shoulder. Jongho's fingers rake over his face, and a horrific wail tears its way out of his throat.

Whipping around, Jongho’s bloodshot, white eyes trail over them before landing on Seonghwa. _“...darkness rests on the shoulders of the damned,”_ he hisses, stumbling away from San to grip onto Seonghwa’s shoulder and stare up at him, a terrifying, crooked smile spreading over his features. Seonghwa’s face pales as he tries to rip his gaze away from Jongho’s soulless eyes. _“And death follows in her light_. _”_

“Jongho…?” Seonghwa whispers, a tremor running through his voice as he raises a hand to touch Jongho’s shoulder, ready to push him away. Jongho laughs, his voice cracking into a sob as he tilts his head. A trail of indigo blood crosses the bridge of his nose and falls onto Seonghwa’s shirt in a viscous drop. An animalistic howl rips from his throat as his legs buckle, and San quickly grabs him by his sides, hefting him upright. His fingers draw trails of indigo down his face, down his neck, as hoarse, wordless cries fall from his tongue.

 _“The shroud has been torn,”_ Jongho rasps, his voice a burning wind in an arid desert. _“And they come. They come…”_ He raises a blood-encrusted finger towards Seonghwa’s chest, lifting his head to meet his gaze. _“They come to take back what was theirs_. _”_

Jongho coughs and his gaze clears as his eyes return to normal. He stumbles, and San catches him before he can crumple. His eyes narrow in confusion as he looks from one face to another. Reaching up, he touches his bloodstained cheek, and his eyes widen. He whirls around to stare at Seonghwa. Seonghwa falters back from him, his lips parting but no words leaving his lips. He swallows thickly. “Jongho, you—”

“Just a hunch…” Their attention darts back to Mingi as he raises a sheepish hand. “But I don’t think we should wait to talk to the Dean.” He fixates Seonghwa with curious eyes. “Even if we don’t know what you really are, I don’t think you’re all you appear to be.” 

* * *

“Maybe we should have waited until he could actually walk…?” Wooyoung suggests, sarcasm dripping profusely off his words as he glances down at Seonghwa from a few steps above him. Seonghwa stares up at him from Jongho’s back, a frown pressing onto his lips and a redness at his ears. 

“I would like to walk by myself too,” he bites back, only to wince as the blood rushes from his head. He closes his eyes, and Jongho’s hands tighten around his thighs to anchor him as he carries him up the spiral staircase to the Dean’s office. 

Hongjoong sighs from a few rounds beneath them, his breath echoing through the tower. “Believe me, I’m not so keen on this myself, but at this point who knows what’s going to happen if we actually wait.” Hongjoong peers up at them from the banister and offers Seonghwa an apologetic grin that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Mingi was right. We have to know what’s going on, especially since it concerns all of us.” 

“I’m always right, you know. You all should learn how to listen to me more,” Mingi calls from above Wooyoung. San absently flicks one of his marbles at him, and it ricochets off his head, flying back into San’s waiting hand. He winces and pouts. “Why are you bullying me? I’m right!” he insists. 

“Not the time, Mingi,” Yunho sighs from beside Hongjoong. He traces the mural on the walls with an abstracted hand as their footsteps echo in the empty tower. 

Seonghwa opens his eyes to peer up towards the top of the staircase. His arms tighten slightly around Jongho’s shoulders, and the younger glances back at him with a frown. He shakes his head slightly as Jongho carries on, trying to ignore the heat at his injured neck and shoulder. It had been aggravating him all the more since they had entered the main facility, but after all the trouble he had been causing lately, he didn’t want to add another problem onto the list of things they should worry about. 

He draws in a breath as Jongho lowers him back onto the ground. He takes a moment to balance himself before finally releasing Jongho's shoulders. He closes his eyes and stabilizes himself before knocking on the door of the Dean's office. His eyes widen at the unexpected screeching of metal against metal and a thunderous crash followed by an exclamation of alarm. He hesitates, exchanging a look with the others, only for Wooyoung to push past and throw open the office door. 

Seonghwa's eyes widen at the sight of the massive gears that had replaced almost every inch of the observatory walls, screeching infernally as they moved, seemingly with a mind of their own. Only the wildly spinning astronomical clock on the wall remained familiar to Seonghwa, hands and wheels whirring in an inexplicable direction. His eyes scan the room to finally land on Dean O'Kallaghan amidst the mess, desk splintered in two and papers scattered over the floor as the gears shift, shearing the heads off of two statues by the doors. Seonghwa's eyes widen as they draw closer, and grabs Wooyoung's collar, dragging him down as the gears slam into the door with a frightening keen, stopped by the fixture mere inches away from their heads. 

"What's going on?" He yells above the grinding metal and the high pitched keening that he couldn't quite place as the observatory itself seems to fall apart at the seams, the gears spinning them into a blank space as the room itself disappears from existence, leaving him standing in nothing, upon nothing, but still very much _there_. His eyes widen as he takes in the darkness around him, as though he were in a room of the most transparent glass. His eyes fall on his friends, only to find them goggle-eyed at the scene around them as well. He turns back to the Dean, lips parting to vocalize his confusion.

Only he can't. A taut cry tears itself from his throat as he crumples to his knees, his wounded neck and shoulder festering, seeping with a vile discharge that oozed from his bandages. He grapples at the weeping injury, his pupils blowing wide with agony. As though through a haze, he senses someone’s hands on his shoulders, at the very least holding his head up, and a hand gripping his wrist to keep him from scratching at the bandages. His jaw gapes in silent agony as he stares blankly towards the Dean for help. 

Above them the gears continue to spin with no regard for them. Seonghwa’s fingers twitch weakly in Wooyoung’s merciless grip, and Wooyoung turns a golden glare onto Dean O’Kallaghan. “Clockworker, do something, damn it! He’s your grandson isn’t he? What in the five hells is going on?!”

For a brief moment, it almost seemed as though fear crossed the Dean’s inexpressive eyes, before it clouds over with a disciplined calmness. He takes a step towards them, clearing his throat to speak. 

“No wait—” Hongjoong steps in front of them to face the Dean. “The conditions to open the barrier gate have passed, haven’t they, Clockworker Saturnus?” Dean O’Kallaghan’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly, but it doesn’t escape Hongjoong’s notice. 

“Wait, you’re not saying—” 

Hongjoong holds up a hand to cut off Mingi mid-query. His eyes widen and his shoulders square as he lowers his centre of gravity in a natural defensive stance. “No, the alignment is wrong.” His gaze drifts over to the whirring astronomical clock, hanging on an invisible wall. In the darkness that surrounded them, stars burst forth and spread in a dazzling array over the expanse as matter whirls into luminescent, unknown planets. Hongjoong draws in a sharp breath as a tomblike coldness settles over the celestial domain, sharpening the air. He gasps. “This _isn’t_ your doing, is it, Clockworker? You shouldn’t be able to open the barrier gate after the red planet’s passing.”

“But if it’s not him, then—” Yunho’s eyes bug as realization dawns on him. “No… no way. No, that’s not possible—a clockworker’s blood isn’t hereditary, right? And...” His gaze drifts over to Seonghwa, who had long since fallen unconscious in Wooyoung’s grip. “...even if it was, I didn’t sense any magic in him! It’s not—it can’t be!”

Around them, space fluctuates and whirls around them in a marvellous display, and San curiously reaches out to touch a passing thread of stardust. It clings to his fingers, bathing them in twinkling, frigid particles, and he stares at it in fascination. He blows it, and the dust sweeps off his finger, twirling into the glistering abyss of space. Despite their situation, a delighted smile or amazement breaks onto his features. He turns back to them, and tilts his head. “If it’s not the Dean, but it is Seonghwa, it still shouldn’t be possible, right?” He points out slowly. 

“He has a point,” Mingi agrees. “Whatever fancy requirements Hongjoong mentioned aren’t happening right now, right?” Mingi glances down at Seonghwa. “So even if he’s somehow got a clockworker’s ability, he shouldn’t be able to open the barrier gate right now either.” His attention shifts over to the Dean. His eyes widen. “Is...he trying to tell us something?”

True to Mingi’s suspicions, Dean O’Kallaghan’s lips were indeed moving, but no sound seemed to elicit from them. Jongho’s eyes blow wide and he runs past them, hand outstretched. As he touches Dean O’Kallaghan, his hand sinks through, as though the Dean was mere thin air. Both Dean O’Kallaghan and Jongho pause in shock. Jongho’s hand trembles before curling into a fist. 

“Oh, you’ve _got_ to be kidding me,” Wooyoung groans. “What dimension are we in right now?” As he speaks, the gears whirl around, and he ducks as one moves dangerously close to his head. He glares at it and flips it a rude gesture. “Will those thrice damned things stop trying to take off my head?!” 

The gears whirl beneath the Dean’s feet, and a blinding rift opens once more, consuming his incorporeal form before threading itself together once more, leaving them alone in the silent galaxy. Jongho’s lips part in a silent gasp of shock, and his hand falls weakly to his side. Mingi reaches out, a thread of water breaking through his finger and snaking around Jongho’s wrist, pulling him back to them. 

San frowns and crouches down to tap at the air beneath them, only to find it hard to the touch, as though an invisible ground held them in place, suspended among the celestial bodies. He frowns, scraping at the ground before rising to his feet and pulling a marble out of his pocket. Tossing it into the air, he flicks it into the starry void, only for it to fly out of his sight. Breathing out a sigh, he holds his hand out until it comes flying back into his hand. “This is...are we stuck here?”

“Why didn’t Dean O’Kallaghan come with us?” Yunho wonders aloud. “Unless…” His eyes meet Hongjoong’s, and the dryad gives a subtle nod. 

“Unless he was never there to begin with. Ever since we opened that door, we’d already passed through the barrier gate. He must have tried to stop us, or at least come with us, but he must’ve been separated from the start. And…” Hongjoong’s gaze drifts over to Seonghwa, and he reaches in his pocket to pull out a pack of tissues. Kneeling down beside Wooyoung, he mops up the dripping suppuration at Seonghwa’s bandages. “Yunho, come here.” 

With a nod, Yunho kneels down beside him. He raises a hand, and places it over Seonghwa’s neck. Wincing, he flinches back and instead rests his fingers on Seonghwa’s forehead. His gaze clouds with puzzlement. “The wound—it’s definitely got traces of that strange magic signature from before, but I still can’t sense any magic in _him._ ” He glances over at Wooyoung. “Hey, Wooyoung, can you lean him over?”

“Don’t tell me what to do, princeling,” Wooyoung retorts sharply, but complies anyway, bending Seonghwa forward to allow Yunho easier access. Yunho wastes no time in pulling up Seonghwa’s sweater, exposing his back. He runs his left hand over the planes of Seonghwa’s shoulders, down to the centre of his dorsal, brow creased in thought. 

“No second circulation, and no sign of a thaumaturgical core either,” he confirms, bemusement written in his voice. He lowers his hand and pulls Seonghwa’s sweater over his back once again. Yunho rises to his feet, raising a knuckle to his lips. “So he’s not an elf unless he’s somehow that good at hiding it.”

“Or maybe it was Clockworker Saturnus that somehow managed to cover his signature?” Mingi suggests with a raised finger. “They have some kind of relation…” 

“As _riveting_ as this discussion is, we’re currently stuck in the middle of godsdamned nowhere,” Wooyoung interjects sharply, his gaze darting over to Mingi. “And we don’t know how long we’re going to be stuck here, or if we can even get out in the first place. So.” His gaze flashes a sardonic gold as it sweeps over them. A mirthless smirk crawls over his lips. “Any bright ideas for how we can get out?”

Almost on cue, Seonghwa’s eyes snap open. Wooyoung stares down at him. “Well, I’ll be twice damned,” he exclaims. “You’ve got selective hearing, don’t you?”

As though oblivious to his words, Seonghwa stiffly rises to his feet without a word and surveys the surroundings with a glazed eye. He takes a step, and then another, and another, until he’s a small distance away from them. He remains unmoving and silent as his blank gaze trails over the perpetual expanse of the universe that existed only around them, moving in perfect, rhythmless tune. 

And it moves. Quickly, quicker still, until their surroundings are a blur of glittering light. Jongho grabs San by the waist and pulls him aside as a planet careens past, dangerously close to them. Yunho ducks as another burning star nearly grazes his head. Mingi yelps and hides behind Wooyoung as star particles cling to his frame. “Cold!” He exclaims, pressing close to Wooyoung and letting his natural warmth melt away the frigid dust. Wooyoung groans and facepalms, but doesn’t move away. Hongjoong hastens towards Seonghwa, only to stop abruptly and stiffen.

Seonghwa slowly turns back to eye them blankly, and his lips part to form silent words. Yunho’s eyes widen and he lunges forward, grabbing Hongjoong’s arm and dragging him back as the gears above them screech in the muted space. Blazing runes flash against the metal as they turn once more, and the stars brighten until they’re much too bright to even look at. Hongjoong’s eyes narrow and he shields them with a hand. “Seonghwa!” 

“No one move! If we don’t stay still we’ll be consumed!” Mingi hollers above the shrieking of metal and the high pitched whine of the speeding lights. In mere moments, even his voice is drowned out, and everything dyes an impenetrable shield of white hot, blinding light. 

And then everything fades into silence. 

Slowly, painstakingly, the air calms, cools, until they can move again. San quietly pads a step away from Jongho, while Wooyoung shifts away from Mingi. Hongjoong opens one eye, and then the other, before his gaze falls on Seonghwa’s crumpled frame. He tenses and breaks out of Yunho’s grip to run to Seonghwa’s side. Reaching down, he feels around Seonghwa’s bandaged neck, relaxing only when he feels a steady pulse beneath his skin. 

Their surroundings begin to take form, as though a thick fog had begun to disperse, and Wooyoung’s eyes widen as his shoulders square with tension. Wordlessly, San stiffly backs into Wooyoung, his gaze darkening, and Wooyoung barely reacts. Mingi breathes out a sigh, his gaze landing on the towering silhouette in the distance. 

Leaves rustle as a delicate breeze titillates the treetops, and sunlight dapples the grassy clearing. Blooms of vibrant blue and white sprinkle among the blades of grass, dancing gaily with the whispers of the wind. Above their heads, minuscule creatures that resembled colourful squirrels flutter on the wings of butterflies, and one lands on Hongjoong’s shoulder. He rises to his feet from Seonghwa’s side, and rubs its head with a finger, a soft smile curling onto his lips. 

“Oh, godsdamnit,” Wooyoung groans, flicking away a stray barbed leaf as it glides onto his shirt and affixes itself there. “After all that trouble to get out, we’re stuck here again.” He spares Yunho a dry glance. "I hope you're happy, princeling."

Mingi pulls his silver ring off his finger and drops it into Wooyoung’s hand. His human form shivers and melts away into something considerably bluer, and he brushes a hand over a jaw frill to moisturize it. “Well, might as well deal with it.” He grins absently. “Even if Scoiltgleann was safer, there’s no place like home, is there?”

With a frown, Yunho tugs off his ring as well and deposits it into Wooyoung’s hand. As his ears lengthen, his pupils fade into nothingness, and his skin pales into pearlescent pink, he raises his hand to the sky, flexing his fingers and smiling lopsidedly at the sweeping sigil that marred the dorsal. “I wish we could all say that honestly,” he sighs. “We all know that the Elven Empire is anything except home.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to apologize for the roughness of my writing lately, as you can probably tell, scenes that are heavy with action aren't quite my forte, but I'm happy to be experimenting with something I'm unused to lately!  
> For all of the readers who wanted to know more about Seonghwa, I hope your curiosity has been sufficiently piqued!  
> Thank you all so much for taking the time out of your day to read, and I do hope you enjoyed <3  
> I look forward to seeing you again for the next chapter~


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my wonderful readers~ And welcome to chapter 5  
> Once again, I'd like to thank everyone who left kudos and kind comments, thank you for appreciating this story :) Thank you all so much for staying with this~  
> It's been a rather busy week, and I was fortunate enough to be able to write despite all of the other things going on, so without further ado, I'll stop rambling so we can get right into it!

"Prince Yeosang, I can explain—"

Yeosang shakes his head, crossing his arms loosely over his chest and meeting Yeonjun’s eyes firmly. “Just tell me exactly what you did, and why you did it.” It was odd; although he was well aware that whatever Yeonjun had infused in his water was, in fact, poison, he didn’t feel afraid. Perhaps he had become used to the concept of someone being after him for many reasons, but he couldn’t possibly imagine what a concubine that he had never encountered before would have against him. Or perhaps it wasn’t him personally, that Yeonjun was after. His eyes widen ever so slightly. 

Sheepishly, Yeonjun rubs his upper arm, averting his eyes from Yeosang. “...it was an experiment, Prince Yeosang.”

“I beg your pardon?” Yeosang stares at him incredulously, and a rueful grin spreads over Yeonjun’s lips as he subtly shifts away from Yeosang. He distractedly pulls his face veil farther up the bridge of his nose, not meeting Yeosang’s eyes.

“It wasn’t meant to cause any harm, Prince Yeosang. At least, not to you.” Yeonjun raises his hands disarmingly. "I still made a mistake, so feel free to discipline me however you see fit." 

Yeosang blinks owlishly, his lips parting. A disbelieving huff elicits from his lips and he raises an eyebrow as his hand falls to a rest on his hip. "If what you said is true, then there's no harm done, and no reason to punish you," he insists. "But I still want to know what your purpose is." Yeosang shakes his head. "You don't make a habit of poisoning your clients, do you?"

With a wry chuckle, and clouded eyes, Yeonjun shakes his head. Yeosang observes him for a moment before motioning with a hand for Yeonjun to follow him. He pads through the room to a set of chairs that surround a glass table. Sitting down on one, he gestures for Yeonjun to join him on another. After a moment of hesitation, Yeonjun quietly sits down, legs pulled together demurely, and hands in his lap. Yeosang’s eyes narrow, and for the briefest of moments he averts his eyes before meeting Yeonjun’s gaze again. “What, exactly, do you want with me?”

“I want nothing with you, Prince Yeosang,” Yeonjun responds simply, raising his tattooed hand earnestly to his chest. He winces ever so slightly, and it doesn’t escape Yeosang’s notice. He opts not to say anything for the time being. “It’s...a poison that I’ve been working on. To staunch secondary circulation.” 

Yeosang’s eyes widen, and he rises abruptly to his feet, palms slamming down on the tabletop. “That’s possible?”

Yeonjun shrugs meekly. “I’ve had an interest in aberrants for a while, Prince Yeosang. Why are they incapable of magic although they have thaumaturgical cores and secondary circulations like any other elf? It’s amazing that no one’s tried to figure it out before and attempt to fix it.” He straightens up as he speaks, a new light in his pupilless yellow eyes. “The Empire is so quick to reject aberrants as useless or cursed.” His eyes darken. “Although I haven't been able to focus on my research because of concubine duties.” 

“Then why are you trying to seal up a functioning secondary circulation?” Yeosang asks, silver gaze boring into Yeonjun’s head. “That’s unheard of, but I’m absolutely certain that you’d be executed if you were discovered!”

Yeonjun meets his gaze only briefly before looking away. “Let them execute me. They’d just lose another useful vessel,” he states, bitterness creeping into his voice. “I’m sure you of all people know how wicked our kind is.” Yeonjun’s hand tightens into a fist on his lap, and his veins protrude painfully beneath the skin of his wrist. “I’m sure you don’t know the extent, nor should you care, but the corruption of the Imperial Mages runs deep.” 

“That...doesn’t surprise me whatsoever,” Yeosang sighs, carefully sitting down once more. He taps his finger against the tabletop restlessly. 

“The Empire has much respect for them, but they have little respect for us concubines. I’m sure you understand what I’m talking about.” Darkness crosses Yeonjun’s gaze once more. “Used like objects and then thrown away, and for what? For conquest. Not one dominion or tribe has been able to withstand the Empire. If it goes on, they’ll overrun the continent. And if they do…” 

“The land will die,” Yeosang finishes for him. “The Empire only takes without giving back. And when they run out of resources to consume, they’ll conquest for more. They’re demons of excess.” 

Yeonjun nods. “I haven’t yet been able to find a solution to unseal an aberrant’s circulation, but I have discovered how to impair a functioning secondary circulation.” Yeonjun rests a hand flat on the glass tabletop, and bright blue cyber lines draw across the transparent glass. They coalesce at the centre, and a holographic image of an elven body forms above the glass. As Yeonjun stares at it, two venous systems draw themselves over the holograph, one in white, the other in indigo. 

“You take your research seriously, don’t you?” Yeosang remarks, eyeing the glowing model. 

“It’s the difference between life and death, Prince Yeosang,” Yeonjun responds with a tight smile. He turns the diagram, and motions to the white system with a free hand. “It’s difficult to reach the secondary circulation orally since it isn’t connected to that orifice, so even if I did create a normal poison, it would be more likely to go down the regular system. The simplest way would really be direct injections or sexual imbuement, but who in their right mind would allow anyone to inject them with poison, right?” Yeonjun almost rolls his eyes, but catches himself at the last minute. “And imbuement would probably harm me too if I tried that.” 

“So then why try to administer it to me orally?” Yeosang wonders aloud. He didn’t dare hint at how his pulse pounded in his neck from the thought that he wasn’t the only one to share these sympathies about this place. Even in the privacy of his quarters, he’d rather be safe than sorry. After all, Yeonjun was also laying his neck to the block by revealing this to him. 

A red glow appears at the holograph’s mouth. “See, I’ve almost perfected the concoction that can best tamper with the secondary circulation. My only issue was being able to deliver it to the system without it being noticed. I’ve achieved flavourlessness and colorlessness, but I apparently forgot to take coagulation into consideration.” As Yeosang watches, the red travels down the throat of the hologram and disperses through the bloodstream where it slips from the blue system to the white. 

“Coagulation?” he echoes curiously. 

“It’s a necessity, but it's difficult to control. The change in fluid pressure allows foreign agents to enter the secondary circulation,” Yeonjun explains. “Although magic is low density, it’s also high pressure, and that’s what allows it to remain almost completely independent from the rest of the body. Blood and other bodily fluids would just be expelled because of their higher density and lower pressure. The solution would need to resemble the characteristics of magic itself as closely as possible. It’s delicate because of variables like body temperature and reaction to natural acids and metabolic enzymes.” 

Yeosang breathes out a dubious sigh, and reaches up to rub his temple. “And you wanted to test it's noticeability on me because I'm an aberrant."

"That way, I'd be able to test it without having it harm you or I," Yeonjun affirms sheepishly, raising his hand from the table. The hologram disperses and the cyber lines fade into transparent glass once more. Yeonjun bows his head, his face veil sweeping the tabletop. "I beg your pardon, Prince Yeosang. I needed organic results, and I'm aware that you've been on edge with the Empire as well."

Yeosang stares at him in silence, hands folded in his lap, before breathing out a sigh. "Yeonjun, raise your head." When Yeonjun hesitantly meets his gaze, Yeosang's lips purse into a thin line. "I'm gracious because you aren't the first one that's tried to poison me. But what you're doing is dangerous. "

Yeonjun's hand clenches into a tight fist and his gaze hardens. "I know, Prince Yeosang. But I'd rather die than stop."

For a moment, Yeosang's blood roars in his ears as he stares into Yeonjun's unfaltering eyes, an impassioned reminder that he was alive, and in such a situation. A smile tilts up the corners of his lips and he rises to his feet, quietly adjusting his circlet crown. "You can do whatever you want under my jurisdiction," he decides, tightening his sash and pulling his robes over his bandaged chest. "But for now, accompany me while I revisit some places."

Relief floods Yeonjun's eyes, and Yeosang would almost have been amused by the way his shoulders visibly slump, a dreadful lapse of poise. Yeosang pads back to his bedcushions and delves through the silks before pulling out a silver coffer. He flips it open and rummages through it, drawing out a glimmering card and pocketing it within his robes.

Yeosang steps through the room towards the door, and removes the talisman from it before pushing it open. As his gaze drifts back to Yeonjun, he offers a slight smile. “Come on now, it’s unmannerly to keep me waiting.” 

Yeonjun jumps to his feet with a comical alacrity, and amusement wells in Yeosang’s chest as he turns away to begin his descent down the tower. It could’ve been troublesome, spending much of his time in a room that was purposefully distanced from the rest of the palace like some individual on house arrest, but Yeosang didn’t care for that. It was both safer and quieter than having to encounter so many other elves, many of whom were willing to turn their noses up at him for his status as an invalid, an aberrant elf, unable to acquire and use internal magic. 

It was almost ironic that the Imperial Crown Prince was only a slightly improved biological version of Earth’s humans. Yeosang had never felt compelled to be dutiful. Elves would never accept an aberrant as king. If anything, the throne and the crown rightfully belonged to Yunho, if it wasn’t for… Yeosang shakes his head, banishing the thought from his mind as Yeonjun falls into step just behind him. He glances back at Yeonjun. “First, I’d like to visit the armoury.”

“Of course.” 

Yeonjun trails a few steps behind him, and Yeosang casts a glance back. "You don't need to be behind me," he assures, slowing his pace to fall into step with Yeonjun. "No one's watching, right? We can forget about all those formalities."

"It's...unusual, is all," Yeonjun replies simply, not quite meeting his eyes.

Of course Yeosang couldn't expect him to be comfortable with any form of casualness. He _was_ the king's favourite concubine, after all. Yeosang shudders at the thought. He silently passes through the halls with Yeonjun beside him, pointedly avoiding eye contact with anyone that happened to be wandering. The palace was a troublesome system of high-ceilinged levels and corridors, connected by circular, levitating floors within magic-powered cylinders that had a similar function to human elevators. Fortunately, they functioned independently from innate magical signatures because of the conduits that transmitted magic like electricity, and Yeosang had no troubles navigating. 

Spirals carved into the peach-hued, stone walls formed narrow windows, spilling light into the corridors, striking bronze sculptures of the elven patriarchs and matriarchs that once headed the now obsolete Council of Houses. Yeosang could point them out blindfolded by now, the austere figures immortalized in the palace. Wiring ran over the walls, in metallic branches, deftly twisted into gracefully sweeping patterns, and thrumming with raw magic. They served to power the numerous mechanisms scattered throughout the palace like an energy channel. It helped that the conduits of magic glowed with a natural luminescence, brightening the corridors even at night. Golden banners that hung from the ceiling displayed the Royal Triquetra, a symbol of pure-blooded nobility, or in Yeosang's case, a curse and a mockery. Stubbornly, he looks away. 

He steps onto the levitating circle for the armoury with Yeosang in tow. Beneath their feet, the circle glows, and the floor opens, allowing them to descend through a transparent chute into the armoury. 

Yeosang waits for the chute to recede before stepping off the circle, and into the cylindrical room, packed from floor to ceiling with an array of weapons, ranging from simple swords and daggers to heavy artillery that Yeosang didn't dare touch. He strides through the display cases with a frown, eyes peeled for his own preferred armament. He traces the glass case of a sleek shotgun resting on a stand above a lengthy table draped with navy silk. 

He reaches up to pluck the teardrop crystal from his circlet crown, pressing it against the lock of the case. Glowing cyber lines trace the glass before coalescing into a translucent screen. Yeosang presses the crystal back into his crown, and rests his hand against the screen. A filament of magic scans his hand before the screen glitches and fades, and the lock pops open. Yeosang reaches into the case, running his fingers over the shotgun. Its workings thrum with magic, and he can't help but lift it off its stand, shifting it into position. He squints through the scope, peering at the wall through the crosshair, and lets out a slow breath, his shoulders poised. 

He lowers the firearm and returns it to its place with a roll of his eyes. It was far too unwieldy for a shotgun. It was a crying shame that functionality was often ignored in favour of power. Although in the end, what won wars won wars, and who was he to critique the oh-so-invincible Imperial Army? Yeosang’s teeth clamp down on the inside of his cheek as he deftly locks the display case.

“I always wondered how an aberrant could navigate the magic systems in the palace,” Yeonjun remarks offhandedly, but when Yeosang turns to look at him, he quickly bows his head in apology. “No offence meant, Prince Yeosang.” 

Yeosang waves him off. “If you have anything to say about me, I’d appreciate you telling it to my face,” He replies noncommittally. A slight, nostalgic smile creeps onto his lips as his fingers rise to brush his silver circlet. “Hongjoong made this to function as an independent magic source so I would still be able to access the magic systems without him. It might be the only one of its kind in the Empire.” He shrugs. “Naturally its magic is finite, so I must use it sparingly.” 

“Hongjoong, you say?” Yeonjun watches him with a neutral frown. “It’s a shame they couldn’t find him. It’s as though he’s simply disappeared.” 

Yeosang tenses ever so slightly at the words, his lips pursing into a thin line. Hopefully they never would find Hongjoong. The dryad would likely be killed on the spot for neglecting to stop him from fleeing, much more for following him. He proceeds down the hall, casting a glance at Yeonjun, whose eyes were trained on a set of hollow needles arranged neatly in an ornamental wooden casket. He raises an eyebrow. "Want it?"

Yeonjun's eyes widen, startled, and he steals a glance at Yeosang. "I couldn't take from the royal armoury—"

"What if I say you can?" Yeosang counters amusedly. He moves to the display and pulls off his crystal to unlock the display case. Yeosang grabs the casket, presenting it to Yeonjun. "What's the point of letting it lie around and collect dust?"

Hesitantly, Yeonjun accepts the case and reverently removes one long needle from it, the gleaming object a few inches longer than his hand. As he lifts it, a translucent white aura surrounds it, diffusing it until it no longer gleams metallically, but instead shines a brilliant white. 

Yeosang raises an eyebrow as Yeonjun hurls it towards the far wall. It embeds itself within the metal, and a crackle of electricity sparks from it. Yeosang's eyes widen as a deep fissure tears down the wall from the point of collision. As the needle fades into regular metal once more, Yeosang winces. "I take back my earlier words. You can do whatever you want under my jurisdiction except give me acupuncture with those."

Yeonjun's eyes brighten as he shuts the case and hugs it in the crook of his elbow. "I can really use these?"

"I can't, so I don't see why I should stop you," Yeosang replies as he trails down the array of weapons once again. His eyes fall on the mechanical bows, and he swiftly turns his gaze away. He approaches the wall, and narrows his eyes at the bladed rifles. His own had likely been taken away when he had escaped to Earth. It was a pity too—the craftsmanship of his favourite bladed rifle was second to none, perfectly balanced, and able to function without magic. 

He reaches towards the wired cuffs that hold them in place, slotting his crystal into the lock and scanning his hand on the screen that appears before him. As a metal slat slides away from the wall to reveal a small keypad, he taps out an auxiliary code, and the cuffs fall open. With care, he lifts the bladed firearm off the wall.

It wasn't his own, but even Yeosang couldn't deny the artistry of it: a well-balanced, solid rifle, intricately carved at the polished, wooden stock and the metal barrel, and firm enough to withstand long-term use. The blade that firmly attached to the bottom of the barrel to the magazine well was lightweight, but by no means fragile. A handguard had been built in front of the magazine well, and as Yeosang flicks it down, he slices through the air in a clean swoop. A slow smile curls onto his lips. "This is nice."

He draws himself back, shifting his centre of gravity lower and sweeps his blade towards one of the table legs. As it easily scores through the wood, and sends the table leg flying off to the side, the display cases tumble to the ground with a messy crash, sending an alarmed shock of glowing magic over the transparent surfaces. He straightens up and eyes the mess sheepishly. "...really nice." He glances down at the weapon in his grip and smiles. "I'll take this one with me."

"The keeper of the armoury won't be very happy with this mess," Yeonjun remarks dryly from beside him. 

Yeosang barely listens, already striding beside the wall until he happens upon a case of loaded magazines. He touches the glass. No magic touched his skin in return. He opens the case and retrieves himself a loaded magazine, attaching it to the well and pulling forward the handguard to shield his grip from the blade. He glances back at Yeonjun. "Throw another one of those needles," he calls as the safety clicks off. 

The coolness of the carved stock at his cheek fills him with an inexplicable excitement, and he closes an eye, his hand shifting closer to the end of the handguard. He catches sight of the glimmering needle, and presses the trigger. 

The thunderous crack that echoes through the room only registers after the metallic ping as the needle is knocked out of thin air, and the bullet buries itself in the handle of a wired battleaxe at the other end of the room. Yeosang lowers the rifle and removes the magazine, tucking it into his sash. He smirks at the bug-eyed expression on Yeonjun's face, able to see him gawping under the sheer veil. He cocks the weapon neatly against his shoulder, careful to align it so that the blade wouldn't cut him. "It appears I've still got it in me," he remarks. 

"Maybe we could choose a better place to test your skills next time…?" Yeonjun suggests, tucking his braid behind his ear and toying nervously with the tips of his hair. "Or we really will destroy the armoury."

"Wouldn't that be a sight to see," Yeosang responds breezily. He peers around the armoury. "Excuse me—there are a few more things I have to procure…" He grabs a few more magazines from the case, balancing them in the crook of his elbow. As he pads around the armoury, he grabs a leather gauntlet and promptly straps it onto his left hand. He then sets down his choice of weapon in favour of strapping a harness over his robes. He slips the magazines into loops in the leather, and then tucks his bladed rifle into a half holster at his hip, buckling it closed. 

He glances back at Yeonjun, and finally offers him a smile. "Is there anything else you need?"

"Not at all," Yeonjun quickly assures, shaking his head and averting his eyes. He stares down at the mess on the floor, cautiously toeing the upended display cases and torn silks. “Are we...just going to leave all of this here?”

Yeosang nods. “Yes, we will. The keeper of the armoury will take care of it. These kinds of things happen more often than you might think.” 

“Even so—”

With a shake of his head, Yeosang turns about face and pads his way towards the towering double doors. “It’s better to not mess things up more than we already have,” he insists. “If the keeper comes for us, I’ll take the fall.” A wry smirk creeps over his lips. “After all, I _am_ the one who made the mess.” 

Yeonjun wrings his wrists absently as he follows Yeosang to the doors, quietly slipping out of the vandalized weapon hall. Yeosang takes the time to properly shut the doors behind him before padding down yet another hall, and into a spacious ballroom. His brow furrows at the sight of pale grey sylphs with glowing shackles clasped to their ankles scattered around the area, rags and water in their hands as they scrubbed away at the expanse, some balancing gracefully in midair as they cleaned the glittering area from marble ground to arched ceiling. Yeosang's eyes narrow at the elf that stood near one of the windows, a dour grimace etched onto his pale orange features, and a serrated, metal rod in his grip. He bites the inside of his cheek and turns to Yeonjun. "Is there something going on that I'm not aware of?" He asks. 

"In a fortnight, Havilah will be a supermoon, and T'shuvah will be eclipsed for the first time in six years," Yeonjun replies, his gaze falling to the floor as his brow creases. 

Yeosang winces as the electrical crack of the rod echoes through the hall that was suddenly much too large for his liking. “The anniversary of the Great Reckoning?”

“Exactly.” Yeonjun’s eyes drift over the ballroom, narrowing at the elf overseer. “The city is preparing for the festival. Naturally the king would want to throw a ball in celebration.” 

Yeosang's lip curls with distaste. "I'm not expected to attend, am I?" Yeonjun meets his eyes for a brief moment, and Yeosang's heart sinks at the harrowed look in his eyes. He turns away, only to stumble as he bumps into something, or rather, some _one._ A gasp elicits from his lips as frigid water spills over his robes, wincing as it soaks through his bandages. His gaze falls on the young sylph in question, a little girl that stares up at him with wide, fearful eyes. 

" _Cretin!_ You dare cross paths with the Imperial Prince?" 

Yeosang tenses when Yeonjun grabs him by the arm, wrenching him out of the way as the glowing vertebrae of the rod comes cracking down on the back of the sylph child. His eyes widen with horror as the serrated edges drag along the child's faded shift, lacerating the cloth and tearing a vicious gash into the wispy skin. 

A scream of agony falls from the lips of the child as she falls onto her hands and knees, a violent spasm shuddering through her body. Tears bloom in her dark eyes and spill down her cheeks, only to disappear in curls of smoke. A crimson cloud billows from the wound in her back, suspending in the air before floating onto the floor and staining it in red. 

"P-please! I'm sorry! I didn't mean—I _didn't—_!"

Yeosang's hand flies to his mouth as the elf brings the rod down on her back once again, buckling her joints and sending her crumbling facedown on the tiles, a shrieking, sobbing, bloody mess of thickly-accented, garbled apologies and pleas for forgiveness. His blood runs cold and his heart stutters in his chest as he falters back, bumping into a stone-still Yeonjun. Yeosang's dart from one end of the ballroom to the other, only to find the other sylphs with their eyes averted, pointedly ignoring the child. His eyes gloss with unshed tears of horror, and a coil of white-hot anger ties itself in his gut. 

He strides forward and grabs the wrist of the elf before he can strike the trembling child once again. His fingers tighten around the elf's wrist until he can feel the pressure of bone under his grip. Fury colours his flashing silver eyes and he wrenches the rod out of the elf's grip with a burst of strength. The electricity that crackled in the rod fades away as soon as he pulls it away, and his eyes widen with a burning indignation. 

He raises the rod towards the elf and tilts his head upwards. "You have the audacity to damage goods in front of me, and before the revelries no less?" He hisses, his voice like ice, and his jaw gritted as he fights the urge to retch at his own words. "Do _not_ waste precious time that could be used for preparations on your petty chastisement." He drops the rod to the floor and nods towards the weeping girl, who didn't dare lift her head from the floor. "Send her to the healer, and don't let me catch you doing this in front of me again, or I'll ensure you leave my sight with more than a reprimand."

He stiffly turns his back to the scene, ignoring the hostile stare that the elf spares him. Fortunately he didn't speak out, but Yeosang can't quite shake the feeling of bitter eyes piercing his back as he leaves the ballroom, Yeonjun following in his wake. He releases a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding once they're well out of earshot, and leans against the banister of the exposed corridor, staring out over the courtyard with a furrowed brow. 

"Prince Yeosang…?" Yeonjun calls tentatively. 

Yeosang doesn't spare him a single glance. "Yes?"

"You…" Yeonjun's voice falters and he drifts off. When he finally turns to meet the elf's gaze, Yeonjun takes a gulp of air, his shoulders squaring. "She could have gotten away with only a beating. You shouldn't have interfered."

A pang of anger sparks in Yeosang's chest and his fingers tighten on the carved banister. "Is there nothing I can do?" He asks softly, his voice trembling with a concealed ire. His pearlescent knuckles blanch white as he glares at nothing in particular. "Is there really nothing I can do?"

Yeonjun doesn't respond, and Yeosang lowers his head with resignation. He turns and proceeds down the corridor without another word. His soaked robes cling to his frame sending a shiver down his spine as a cooling breeze brushes him, a frigid reprimand in face of the mistake he had just made. 

* * *

“Hey, hey, wake up, naptime’s over. Hey!” 

Mingi grabs Wooyoung’s scaled hand by the wrist as he slaps Seonghwa's pale face once more. When Wooyoung glances back at him, he pouts. "You're gonna kill him if you keep doing that, you know." Mingi smiles. "And if he dies, it'll be a problem to get rid of the body."

"Just burn it," Wooyoung retorts before yelping and gripping his head as the sharp sting of Hongjoong's switch catches him a good one on the jaw frill. He whips around to glare at Hongjoong as a coil of his hair retracts and blooms with a single, white blossom. "Godsdamnit, Hongjoong, it was a joke, a _joke!"_

"We don't joke about that, Wooyoung," Hongjoong insists sharply. "Among us, it's fine, but Seonghwa isn't one of us. He's an innocent bystander, he has nothing to do with this situation."

"Innocent bystander my ass," Wooyoung huffs. "You saw what he did. You saw him force open the dimensional barriers. Humans don't do that. Humans _can't_ do that." Wooyoung jerks a thumb towards Seonghwa’s unconscious frame. “Hell, even those _elflings_ can’t do that. Not while Clockworker Saturnus is still alive.”

“It _is_ true that more than one clockworker hasn’t existed at the same time,” Yunho pipes up, words muffled by his chewing. 

Wooyoung blinks owlishly before gaping at him. “Yunho, why in the five hells are you eating the damned _grass?”_

Yunho glances down at the selection of greenery in his hand, and he offers a sheepish shrug as he tosses it into his mouth. “I’m hungry…?”

San slips over to Yunho’s side, prodding the blades of grass plastered to the corner of his mouth with a curious, grey finger. “Is it edible? Does it taste good?” he wonders aloud. He hovers a few inches above the ground, eyeing the grass curiously. As he reaches down, a yellowed hand grabs his forearm. San peers back at Jongho, who raises an incredulous eyebrow at him. 

“Oh, don’t you start eating grass too,” Wooyoung groans, his hand meeting his forehead. “We stepped on that, you know.” 

Hongjoong reaches over with a vine to wipe the corner of Yunho’s mouth, shaking his head in disapproval. “We have to get you something more decent to eat,” he agrees. His eyes narrow at the sky. “If we make good speed, we may be able to make it to the metropolis a little past sundown.”

"Oh no. Oh hell no. We're not going there," Wooyoung interjects through gritted teeth. "Are you _trying_ to get us killed, or is this just your idea of entertainment?"

San glances over at him, confusion misting his gaze. "Why not? Wouldn't we be able to get something to eat and someplace to rest there?"

"I think he was referring to something else," Mingi stage-whispers, gesturing to his scarred forearms, and then motioning for San's legs. 

Realization dawns in San's eyes and his face pales. "....oh."

"Oh is right,” Hongjoong sighs. “I’m not too keen on returning myself, but…” His gaze drifts over to Yunho.

Yunho’s eyes widen when he meets Hongjoong’s eyes, and he shakes his head. “Sorry to be the stick in the mud, Hongjoong, but Wooyoung has a point...if we go there, they’re going to recognize us straight away.” He glances over at Wooyoung, Mingi, and San. “I’m pretty sure I’d be safe, but they’re going to get killed for sure, and you…” Yunho’s voice trails off as he stares at Hongjoong once more. “A bite to eat isn’t worth it.” He plucks a few flowers and smiles ruefully. “I’ll survive.” 

“But—”

Yunho shakes his head firmly. “We can’t endanger everyone like this, especially not Seonghwa." As he pops the plants into his mouth, he gestures vaguely in Seonghwa's direction. "He's already halfway to insanity—I really don't think throwing him into elven society would be a good idea."

"Well, gee, why couldn't you think of that for us too," Wooyoung drawls, sarcasm dripping off his words as he looks away from Yunho. 

"You know I would do something if I could," Yunho insists, hints of hurt colouring his voice. Wooyoung clicks his tongue, but doesn't respond. 

"I don't know about all of you, but I'm leaving," Mingi announces, whirling his back to them. "You all can do whatever you want, but I'm going back to my waters." He shrugs. "They won't bother looking somewhere they've already razed, and really, I don't owe any of you anything."

"Why you—" 

Jongho grabs Wooyoung's arm before he can lunge at Mingi, and shakes his head at him. With a growl, Wooyoung tears his arm out of Jongho's grasp. "Who do you think you are?!" He grits out. "Don't forget that you're in the same situation as us. _When,_ and not if, they find you, you're going to regret running off."

Mingi glances back at him with a raised eyebrow and a mirthless grin. "Sorry, Wooyoung. I only stayed with all of you because I had to. Now that I don't, I don't have to stick around and risk my skin."

"Are you forgetting what Yeosang did for you?" Yunho interjects, wide-eyed. "Doesn't that mean anything to you?" He takes a step towards Mingi, his brow creasing. "Mingi, are you really going to leave?"

For a brief moment, something akin to hesitation glosses over Mingi's eyes. He shakes his head. "I'll answer to Yeosang only, then." His brow crinkles sympathetically. "Look, it's unfortunate, but I'm not going to do anything that can get me killed for people who I barely know." He raises his hands and shrugs. "It's called self-preservation."

"Mingi—"

Yunho glances back at Jongho when his fingers curl over his shoulder. Jongho shakes his head, and Yunho's words die on his lips. He meets Mingi's eyes and then looks away, blinking hard. "...fine. You're right, you don't owe us anything."

"But when they catch you, don't expect us to come running after your sorry hide," Wooyoung spits. 

Mingi frowns. "Why don't you leave too? You could go and catch an independent airship to the dragon continent or something. They'd probably welcome you there." 

He yelps and gracelessly dodges as a beam of vicious flames roars towards him. His eyes widen. "What was that for?" 

"You undines might like fleeing like cowards the moment it's convenient for you, but I'm not like that," Wooyoung hisses, the tips of his blackened fingers smouldering with the remains of fire. "Don't _ever_ think I'll run away from my responsibility like you at the slightest inconvenience. I'll _kill_ you."

Mingi's eyebrows ride up on his forehead. Then his lips pull upwards into a challenging smile. He strides past the charred grass and stares down into Wooyoung's furious eyes. His fingers clamp down on Wooyoung's wrist and before he can react, he raises Wooyoung's hand to his neck. Mingi tilts his head at Wooyoung. "Then do it. _Coward._ "

Wooyoung's scaled fingers tremble against his neck, black claws digging into his skin as he grits his teeth. Mingi's gaze hardens and he throws Wooyoung's hand off his neck. "That's what I thought. Who's the real coward here, huh?" He points a delicate finger at Wooyoung's chest. "Do you know _why_ your tribe was defeated?” The veins in Wooyoung’s neck protrude from under his skin as he glares up at Mingi. In turn, Mingi lowers his hand and shakes his head. “It’s because of _you._ ” 

“Shut up. _Shut up!”_ The pixielike creatures in the clearing flutter away in a colourful horde at the thunderous cry that elicits from Wooyoung’s lips as he grabs Mingi’s collar and drags him down to eye level. His black tongue darts past his lips like that of an aggravated serpent. “Don’t you tell me what I already know!” He draws back a fist, but before he can strike Mingi, a vine coils around his wrist, jerking him back. He plants his heel on the grass, wrenches his arm from Hongjoong’s vine and cuffs Mingi across the cheek. 

Mingi stumbles under the blow, and San immediately darts over to catch him before he can lose his balance. San gapes at Wooyoung in shock. “You didn’t have to do that! Why are you fighting? Fighting won’t solve anything!” 

Rubbing his cheek, which was beginning to redden from the blow, Mingi meets Wooyoung’s eyes again, a smirk playing on his lips. “He’s just throwing his fists around like a little child because he doesn’t know how else to deal with his insecurities,” he states flatly. “Don’t worry about him, San.” 

“You—!” Wooyoung’s fingers curl into a fist at his side. 

Mingi outstretches an arm, water swirling into being at his command and taking the form of a bladed fan in his grip. He rustles it closed in a single movement and runs towards Wooyoung. Before anyone can react, the glint of silver flashes in the afternoon sun, and small beads of crimson flicker in its wake, glimmering like rubies. 

A shocked cry cuts through the air as Mingi unfolds his fan, licking the blood off the tips of its blades. He meets Wooyoung’s eyes as the drake grasps his head, blood seeping through the gaps in his fingers. Mingi’s lip curls at the sight before his features pull into a smile. “You hit me first,” he points out. “I’m just giving you something to remember me by.” He whips around and pads over the burnt grass. “Don’t say you’re going to kill anyone if you don’t even have the guts to follow through.” He glances back, his citrine gaze colder than ice. “You’ve got some nerve, calling me a coward.” 

As Mingi stalks off, San darts over to him, grabbing his sleeve and staring down at him from midair. “You’re...not really leaving, are you?”

A regretful smile curls onto Mingi’s lips, and he pushes San’s hand off his arm. “Sorry, San. You’re not bad, you really aren’t, but I’m not about to get gutted like a fish for some people I barely know.” He turns and walks off. 

When San reaches out for him again, a thin vine coils around his ankle and tugs him back. He turns to stare at Hongjoong, who only shakes his head. “He’s right, San. He doesn’t have any reason to stay. If he really wants to go, let him.” 

With a frown, San reluctantly nods. Eyes downcast, he floats back to them and alights on the ground beside Jongho. A hand rests gently on his shoulder, and he turns to find Jongho offering him a comforting smile. Shakily, he returns it. 

Yunho hurries over to Wooyoung’s side and carefully pries his hand off his face, only for his eyes to widen with horror. “Hongjoong! Wooyoung’s bleeding bad!” 

Wooyoung waves him off with a grudging hand before wiping his face with the heel of his palm. The blood smears over his red skin, tarnishing the golden patches of scales in a rusted hue as he tentatively opens his left eye. “Whatever, it’s just a cut. Not like anyone’s dying.” He winces. 

As a thin stem studded with vascular leaves grows from Hongjoong's arm, he nips it off with his fingers and pops it in his mouth. He studies the cut as he chews it before spitting it out into his hand. "It doesn't look deep, but you should still take care of it so it doesn't get infected. He hands Wooyoung the wad of chewed leaf. "Here. Put this on it. It'll disinfect it."

When Wooyoung hesitates, Hongjoong snatches the wad back with a vine as he tears off a section of his tunic. He slaps the poultice against Wooyoung's eye and then fastens it in place with the strip of cloth. Dusting his hands off on his pants, he smiles. "There we go."

Wooyoung frowns, lips parting with a scathing remark on his tongue. He shuts his mouth and bows his head reluctantly. "...thank you."

"So you can have some manners after all," Hongjoong remarks with a teasing smile. He reaches up to ruffle Wooyoung's hair.

At first, Wooyoung gapes at him in shock before scooting away with a roll of his eyes. "Don't touch my hair."

Barely fazed, Hongjoong turns to the rest of them and plants his hands on his hips. "If the rest of you are staying, then we have to find a safe place to camp out before sundown. I suggest that we still have Yunho go to the metropolis to fetch us food and supplies, since his absence is less likely to be an issue with them as ours is."

“Hey. I think that’s a bad idea.” 

Hongjoong glances back at Wooyoung with a raised eyebrow. “Do tell.” 

Wooyoung looks from one face to the other, and then gestures towards Jongho. “I think he’s our best bet. Sure, we’ve got our princeling over here, but you think he isn’t wanted too for a different reason?” Wooyoung barely spares Yunho a glance. “You send him in there, and someone’s going to bend him over against a wall.” Hongjoong tenses, but Wooyoung disregards it. “Meanwhile, you’ve got the dumb halfer. The most anyone’s going to do is spit in his face and laugh. He can probably get in and out unnoticed.” 

Jongho brings the flat of his hand down on Wooyoung’s head, an unamused expression printed over his features. With a groan, Wooyoung grabs his head, and flashes a glare at Jongho. “What in the five hells—” Before he can finish his sentence, Jongho smacks him once more for good measure, and he crouches down on the grass, covering his head. “Fine, I’m sorry I called you a dumb halfer! Now stop hitting me, I’m wounded!” 

Jongho smacks him a third time before stepping away, lips pursed. He crosses his arms over his chest and fixes a violet gaze on Hongjoong. They exchange looks, and Hongjoong finally breathes out a sigh. “If you think that’d be best, then go ahead,” he tells Jongho. “But your funds…” 

“That’s why I should be the one to go,” Yunho interjects. When they turn to stare at him, he rests a tattooed hand on his chest. “I can take out of the royal treasury too. It’s not much to buy a few loaves of bread and a few tumblers of water.” He offers them a reassuring smile. “I’m plenty strong right now.” 

“Can you though?” Wooyoung mutters from where he sits on the grass, still nursing his head. “Look, we already lost one of us. If something happens to you, and we can’t help, then your princeling brother will have my head.” He pauses and shrugs. “Not that those thrice damned parents of yours weren’t after it already.”

“Wooyoung!” Hongjoong warns. 

With a sigh, Wooyoung combs his fingers through his disheveled hair and shakes his head. “All I’m saying is...if you’re going to go then just…” He drifts off. His brow creases and he clicks his tongue, turning his head away from Yunho. “Just don’t get yourself killed. Or r—” Before Wooyoung can finish his sentence, Jongho clamps a hand over his mouth to silence him. 

“Perhaps Jongho can go together with him then,” Hongjoong suggests, his brow crinkling. A few of his flowers wilt and flutter to the ground as he turns to face Yunho. “I would feel much more at ease if you weren’t by yourself.” 

"By...what—"

Hongjoong glances back as Seonghwa stirs and then sits up, rubbing his eyes with the back of his wrist. Seonghwa grimaces before lowering his hand and turning to stare at them. "Oh, hey—" He blinks owlishly, his gaze finally coming into focus. His eyes widen. “Wait—”

Before anyone can say anything, Hongjoong hurries over to him and rests a hand on his forehead. “Before you likely freak out and start interrogating, we’re not on Earth any more. I don’t know how much you remember but—”

Seonghwa raises a hand to stop Hongjoong’s words and offers him a wry smile. “I remember most of it…” He glances down, befuddlement filling his gaze as he flexes his fingers curiously. “And maybe you were right. I don’t know what’s wrong with me—I don’t even know if I am who I’ve been saying I am...but I still want to go home.” 

His lips fall into a frown. It was odd, as though he had consciously done whatever he did, but not of his own will. His mind was nothing but a consciousness trapped in a mobile shell, and the thought of it sent a shiver down his spine. It was unnatural— _he_ was unnatural—there was no denying that any more. And yet, for some reason, the revelation didn’t frighten him as much as it had before. It rested within him like a stone of closure that he didn’t know he needed, and sparked a newfound curiosity deep in his stomach. It was uncharacteristic. “I don’t care what I am any more. I was living just fine as a human. And I don’t want to throw that away.”

“Can’t you reopen the barrier gate, then?” Yunho asks, lips curving into a frown. 

Seonghwa shakes his head, reaching up to brush back his fringe. His skin felt warm, but his head was oddly clear, as though the fever had disappeared in the span of mere minutes. He closes his eyes and draws in a slow breath, channelling his energy towards the odd sensation he had felt before, the painful tingling. Heat draws to his head, and he opens his eyes with a wince. He reaches up to rub his temple. “I can’t. I don’t know what happened before.” 

He takes in his surroundings with a careful frown, and then his company. His eyes narrow with confusion. “Where’s Mingi? And San?”

“San went to find a water source so we can set up camp soon. And then hopefully figure out what to do next. ” Yunho answers. He hesitates. “And Mingi…” 

“That bastard ran off,” Wooyoung grits out. “Said he didn’t owe us anything, and he was going to save his own skin.” He crosses his arms over his chest and scowls. “Good riddance.” 

Seonghwa’s brow furrows and he slowly rises to his feet, swaying slightly. A hefty vine steadies him, and he offers Hongjoong a grateful look. He faces Wooyoung with a frown. “He left? Will he be all right?”

Wooyoung’s eyes widen with surprise and he meets Seonghwa’s eyes incredulously. “Don’t tell me you’re actually worried about him.” 

“He’s by himself now, and I don’t have any idea where we are or what this place is like,” Seonghwa lists off. His brow furrows. “Of course I’d be worried. Unless this is normal and he’ll be fine…?” Seonghwa dusts off his clothes and steps away from Hongjoong’s vine, reacquainting himself with the feeling of being outside. He breathes out a sigh, and rubs his temple. This was really _not_ what he had thought he was getting into.

“You’ve known him for what, two days? Why should you care about him?” Wooyoung retorts. 

Seonghwa fixes him with a blank stare. “Because it’s normal? Don’t tell me that a side-effect of being non-human is having no empathy.” He rolls his wrist and breathes out a careful sigh. “I hope he’s okay. But what do we do now?”

“I was about to head for the metropolis,” Yunho informs. “The capital city.” He gestures to the looming towers in the distance. “We’re nearby, but it’s not safe for Hongjoong, San, or Wooyoung to be there, so I’m going to grab supplies.” 

Seonghwa’s lips part to ask a question, but he thinks better of it. After all, he was currently in a completely alien situation, and stuffing his brain with as many answers as possible didn’t sound like the smartest of ideas at the moment. He tilts his head. “Well, do you need any help? I can come along. To carry things.” He rubs the back of his neck. “...might as well make myself useful.” He leaves out the bit that it was his fault they were there to begin with, although even without his words, the implication hangs heavily in the air. 

“I don’t think that’s a g—” 

Before Hongjoong can finish his sentence, Wooyoung tosses something at him. Seonghwa scrambles to catch it, and stares down at the familiar silver ring in his palm. It was oddly warm, almost hot against his skin. Wooyoung glances up at him and frowns. “Well, if you’re heading into that cesspool, might as well have some extra precautions, right?” When Seonghwa eyes him in puzzlement, he shrugs. “It’s just an illusion ring. It uses fire and air magic to hide your true appearance.”

Seonghwa rolls the ring between his thumb and index finger curiously. “But didn’t you all use these to look human?”

Wooyoung just lifts a lazy finger towards Yunho. “It follows the intention of your magic. But since you supposedly don’t have any, he can help you out.” 

When Seonghwa glances over at Yunho, he smiles and approaches him, plucking the ring from his hand and clasping it in his fist. A warm glow surrounds his hand before fading, and when Seonghwa takes the ring back from him, it seems to hum with some kind of strange energy. He scratches his bandaged neck absently. 

“Go on, try it,” Yunho encourages.

Seonghwa slips the ring onto his finger, and winces as a burning heat shoots through him. He gasps in surprise, and waits for the skin-crawling sensation to fade. When it finally does, he peers down at himself, only to notice nothing much different. He tilts his head. “Did it work?”

“Don’t worry, you shouldn’t be able to see its effects on yourself. If you look at your reflection, then you’ll see an elf,” Yunho assures. He grins. “You know, you’re pretty good-looking.” 

Despite himself, Seonghwa feels his ears warm. He looks from one face to the other and tilts his head. “If the rings work like this, can’t the rest of you use them to go to the metropolis?” he asks. 

“Aside from the fact that I’d rather chop my foot off than ever look like an elf, the guards will recognize our magic signatures right away.” Wooyoung grimaces. “And in case you didn’t get the memo, we don’t like elves. And we don’t want to be caught sneaking around by them.” He rolls his eyes. “Even if you have no signature, you can still get away as an aberrant.”

“Aberrant?” Seonghwa echoes, but before he can question further, Wooyoung waves him off. 

“Hey, princeling, the sun’s going to go down if you two don’t hurry up.” 

Hongjoong breathes out a resigned sigh and finally nods. “Two people would be better than one, and it _would_ be suspicious if Jongho suddenly showed up with Yunho. You two can go, but be careful, all right?”

And before Seonghwa can respond to that, Yunho grabs his wrist and breaks into a run.

* * *

“Please, _please_ give me a warning before dragging me through the forest next time,” Seonghwa sighs when Yunho finally slows to a walk. He gently tugs his hand out of Yunho’s grip and falls into step beside him.

Yunho faces him and offers him a grin. “Well we wouldn’t get any peace and quiet with Hongjoong’s nagging and Wooyoung trying to insult me with every other breath. Jongho is fine, but I think that speaks for itself.” 

Seonghwa nearly snorts, but resists the urge, and instead nods as they pad through the grass, Yunho weaving his own invisible path through the dense greenery, and Seonghwa following closely. For a few moments silence reigns between them, but before he has the chance to break it, Yunho speaks. “I know you have questions.” 

“That’s the understatement of the century, Yunho,” Seonghwa huffs. A smile creeps back onto Yunho’s lips and his pupilless eyes shift over to spare him a glance. Seonghwa turns his eyes ahead, although all he could see at this point were the swaying trees that seemed to have a life of their own, undulating and dancing gracefully to the whims of the wind that caressed them. He frowns with thought. 

“I know they didn’t want to tell you anything, but I think you’d be better off knowing some things at least if you’re going to be in the metropolis,” Yunho insists. 

Seonghwa offers him a grateful smile. “I’m really just trying to process everything right now,” he admits. “But...what was that thing that Wooyoung was saying? An aberrant?”

Yunho breathes out a sigh, his footsteps gaining speed until Seonghwa is nearly jogging to keep up with him. Yunho barely notices. “Generally speaking, aberrants are elves that can’t use magic,” he informs. “Programmed or malicious magic can interact with them, and they can be hurt by it, but they can’t interact with or conjure it out of their own will. They can’t take magic and use it for themselves. They’re not very common, but they do exist…” he drifts off, his eyes darkening. 

“Then I guess Wooyoung really was right,” Seonghwa muses. 

“When we go into the metropolis, they’ll only recognize my signature. To them, you’ll be an aberrant, and it means that you’re going to be scorned.” Yunho offers him an apologetic smile. “Elves don’t take kindly to aberrants.” 

Seonghwa’s lips pull into a smile. “If it’s some mean-spirited looks, I think I can handle it. We’re only going to be out for a little while, right?”

Yunho breathes out a sigh and then presses a smile onto his lips and nods. “Right. But just don’t engage with them if they try to rile you up. It’s not worth it.” He straightens his back and raises his head. “And...don’t act surprised by anything you see or you’ll stick out, and not in a good way.” He laughs. “Anything else?”

“Yes.” Seonghwa finally pulls up the question he had been waiting to ask. “Why is it dangerous for the others?” He frowns. “And why did the Dean try so hard to stop Yeosang?”

For a long while, Yunho doesn’t speak. Seonghwa almost opens his mouth to ask once more, but before the words can form on his tongue, Yunho turns to look at him, and although he’s smiling, an unfathomable pain colours his silver gaze. Yunho shakes his head. “The others are fugitives. As for Yeosang...he’s the one who helped them escape.” 

“Escape for what reason?” Seonghwa asks. This time around, Yunho doesn’t answer, and Seonghwa doesn’t dare ask again for the cold dread that settled in his chest. 

They continue their journey for what seemed to be hours, but before Seonghwa can complain about sore feet, Yunho points towards the thinning trees. “We’re almost there. Just let me do the talking when we’re inside, all right?” And Seonghwa just nods, because really, what could he do in a whole world that he was unfamiliar with? If he was lucky, he might be able to escape making a complete and utter fool of himself. 

As they stride through the last stretch of trees, Yunho’s form shivers, and his clothes morph into something longer, something more delicate, that draped gracefully over his tall figure. The pale yellow robe clung to him in a way that teased at his pearlescent pink collarbones, but covered the rest of him well enough. Yunho reaches into the sash fastened at his waist and pulls from it a translucent face veil. He drapes it over the bridge of his nose and allows it to hang over his face in a single, practiced movement, before meeting Seonghwa’s eyes. His lips curl into a wry smile. “You ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Seonghwa replies honestly. 

Yunho only chuckles and strides out of the forest, making his way towards the city and its spiralling towers with a lithe grace to his steps, and a subtle, vulpine grace in his movements that Seonghwa could only describe as seductive. It seemed so unexpected, that he has to fight back an incredulous laugh as he follows closely in Yunho’s wake. 

To Seonghwa’s surprise, there didn’t appear to be much fortification around the city. From Yunho’s words, he would have expected there to be a wall or something of the like at the very least, but as he strides towards the agglomeration of massive buildings, he finds nothing but a few elves standing at the perimeter, dressed in a navy blue and clad in odd looking cyber-breastplates that glowed with a semblance of magic and bore a familiar symbol. His eyes widen at the interlocked triangles that he had last seen on Jeongin’s forehead. “Hey, Yunho,” he hisses, but the elf ignores him, instead striding confidently up to one of the elves. 

“I’ve come with a friend of mine. We’ll only be shopping for today,” he announces calmly. 

Seonghwa’s eyes widen, but he forces himself to remain composed as the guard scrutinizes him. To his surprise, a small, translucent, holographic screen appears beside the guard’s left eye, from where a set of wires formed some kind of cyber-monocle attached to a small device that hooked to the guard’s ear. Seonghwa tenses. 

The few seconds of scrutiny were almost physically painful to bear, but when the guard offers him a smirk, he can’t help but relax. “You two have fun in there,” the guard remarks, almost scathingly, and Seonghwa would have given a sharp retort, did Yunho not look so utterly unfazed by the rude behaviour. 

“We will,” Yunho replies with a smile, raising a tattooed hand to blow a flirty kiss towards the guard. 

Seonghwa grimaces as soon as they’re safely out of earshot, prepared to ask Yunho what was the meaning behind his odd behaviour, but the sight that meets his eyes takes his breath away. He gazes up at the spiralling towers and exquisitely sculpted buildings that formed graceful shapes that should have been impossible to build, and yet, were there. The delicate glow of sandy orange dominated the towering skyline, although the pipes that ran through the city glowed faintly in white. 

What surprised Seonghwa most of all was the bizarre futurism of the city, bustling with strange self-powered, metallic chariots, translucent screens that floated before the windows and walls to advertise products and other fragments of simple information such as the news or the weather, and Seonghwa even catches sight of a transit system of sorts that weaved through. Most of the citizens were dressed much like Yunho in tunics or robes, but every so often, Seonghwa caught sight of odd mechanisms and strange weapons or tools carried around by the elvenkind, somehow simultaneously archaic and advanced. If there was one certainty, it was that the air itself seemed to thrum with a constant energy, not unlike what he had felt in the ring when Wooyoung had given it to him. 

He follows Yunho through the winding stone pavement, peering curiously into the windows of shops, and eyeing the cyberstrips that advertised the day's sales. He rounds a spired fountain that flowed with crystalline water, and his eyes widen at the sight of familiar looking blue figures, constrained with manacles that glowed with magic and hefting large crates of who knew what in an orderly line. His lips part in shock as a particularly willowy undine stumbles under the weight of his burden, only to be shocked by a bolt of electricity through his manacles. 

He falls to his knees, the crate upending, and its contents of nameless fruits that Seonghwa had never seen before spilling over the walkway. He tenses, and naturally takes a step to help the undine, only for an elf to stride forward, metallic cattails in hand. Seonghwa covers his mouth to muffle a horrified gasp as the whip is brought down on the undine with a sickening crack. Before he can take another step, a hand encircles his wrist and tugs him back. He turns to stare at Yunho, wide-eyed, only for Yunho to shake his head and pull him away.

Seonghwa follows him reluctantly until Yunho leads him down a quieter path in close proximity of an open-air marketplace. He turns to face Seonghwa. "I told you not to engage in anything," he mutters under his breath, so as not to be heard. 

Seonghwa's brow furrows. "You can't expect me to see _that_ and do nothing! What even—" Yunho shushes him with a raised hand and shakes his head. 

"Seonghwa, you're a good person, but you can't jump in there like that. They'll have you taken to a correctional rotunda for interfering with commercial property!" Yunho frowns beneath his face veil, and leans in a little closer to Seonghwa. When Seonghwa flinches back, he takes his arm. "Just bear with it," he states. "We'll look less suspicious like this."

"I'd say we look pretty suspicious anyway," Seonghwa retorts, albeit keeping his voice down. After a moment's reluctance, he shifts closet to Yunho. "Something's not right, Yunho. You're acting strangely."

Yunho sweeps their surroundings with a quick glance before settling his gaze back on Seonghwa. "How's your fever?"

"It's strange," Seonghwa admits. "Ever since we got here, it's pretty much gone away." He feels his forehead and nods decisively. "I feel fine."

Yunho relaxes. "Good." He steps away from Seonghwa. "We only need a few weeks worth of bread and if San finds a water source, we'll be fine on that." He sweeps a graceful arm at the streetmarket. "I'll just grab some food. Stay close, and whatever you do, don't try and help anyone." His shoulders slump ever so slightly. "You're acting as an aberrant, right now, so you should know your place."

Before Seonghwa can open his mouth to argue, Yunho pads off again, leaving him staring at his proceeding back. Seonghwa quickly follows after him, biting his lip absently, and glancing back the way they had come, wondering if he had made the right decision, listening to Yunho. He winces. 

Turning back to Yunho, he watches curiously as he selects a few loaves of bread packaged in some kind of waxy paper, and a few other strange looking morsels. The shopkeeper courteously packs his selections into some curious transparent bags of sorts that didn't quite look like plastic. He watches as the shopkeeper pulls apart two metal cylinders, stretching open a glowing, translucent screen with what was presumably the cost of the purchase written on the top corner, and Yunho rests his hand over it. A line of magic traces his appendages, and the screen glitches and disappears. 

Yunho dips his head in polite thanks as he takes the groceries in the crook of his arm, and turns back to Seonghwa with a grin. "Easy enough." He hands him a bag, and Seonghwa is pleasantly surprised to find that it wasn't heavy at all, despite its contents. 

As Yunho continues through the city, Seonghwa follows closely beside him. "Are we not going to leave now?" He asks. "Since we have what we need."

"It'd be suspicious if we left so soon," Yunho replies simply, and Seonghwa couldn't really argue with that. Yunho offers him a wry smile. "Might as well give you a really condensed tour." He pauses and meets Seonghwa's eyes. "Do your best to ignore the slaves."

Seonghwa flinches at the callous tone in Yunho's voice, but he doesn't give him any opportunity to refute. Seonghwa dumbly follows in Yunho's wake, his initial amazement slowly but surely fading as the little things attract his attention and trouble something deep within him.

He turns his eyes away from the slaves, the dryads, the drakes, the sylphs, the undines; he could only selfishly count himself lucky that he hadn't seen another being whipped, although the violent scars that crisscrossed over their skin told far more painful stories than their muted voices ever could. He flinches and looks away as a young elf spits in the face of a dryad who didn't dare lift their head. Unconsciously, he sidles closer to Yunho. "How can you live with this?" He whispers, horrified. 

Yunho just chuckles, and Seonghwa frowns at the heaviness in the sound. Almost as though ignoring his question, Yunho gestures towards the palace in the distance. "Yeosang is probably there. The richer houses can afford to live closer to the palace."

Seonghwa frowns as he catches sight of a heavily bruised elf tending to her wounds in a quiet alleyway. He feels something in his gut wrenching at him to help, but he forces his eyes away and follows Yunho. "Do you think he's all right?"

"Who knows," Yunho answers honestly, his voice sobering. Seonghwa rests a comforting hand on his shoulder, and he straightens up, lifting his head firmly. "He must be. He's always been strong."

"Hey! _Hey!"_

This time it's Yunho who flinches, albeit barely. Seonghwa would have missed it entirely if his hand hadn't been resting on Yunho's shoulder. Seonghwa glances back to find a rather well built, green-skinned elf, perhaps a little shorter than Yunho, and clad in navy robes striding towards them. 

He tenses, but to his surprise, the elf almost ignores him entirely in favour of approaching Yunho with a grin brightening his brown eyes. "Well, if it isn't my favourite concubine! I haven't seen you in a while, Yunho."

Yunho falters, but stands his ground. "Hongseok." He quickly presses a smile onto his lips. "I keep running into you no matter where I am in the city."

"It must be fate then," Hongseok chirps, and a switch in Seonghwa flips, as the realization dawns on him that something is wrong, very wrong. 

Yunho meets Hongseok's eyes and his gaze instinctively flickers down to the elf's lips. He keeps a smile pressed onto his features. "I'm off duty now. Do you need my services?" He asks, pulling himself up to his full height, and gathering his composure. 

"I don't know. Maybe _you_ need _my_ services," Hongseok teases, reaching out to pin Yunho against the wall with a hand, a roguish smile on his lips. "Humour me. My troops are covering ground to the Partavian Sea. We'll be taking the naiads by order of your father."

Although Yunho's smile remains on his lips, he shakes his head. "Don't refer to the king as that, Hongseok. We're in public." He draws a slender finger down the air, leaving in its wake a glowing line of magic that spreads open into a holographic screen. "Now make your purchase, or I'll have to ask you to leave me alone. On duty or off duty, my services aren't free, you know," he points out. He scrolls through a list that Seonghwa couldn't read, but somehow a worm of unsettlement withes within his stomach. 

With a disapproving frown, Hongseok scrolls through the options and taps one. Yunho's jaw tightens as Hongseok scans his hand against the screen, transferring the purchase funds. He breathes out a sigh and rests a teasing finger on Hongseok's lips. Leaning closer to him until the fabric of his face veil tickles Hongseok's skin, Yunho smiles. "Give me a moment."

Seonghwa's heart drops as Yunho passes him the other bag of groceries that he had been holding, an apologetic glimmer in his eyes. "Sorry, Seonghwa, I have something I need to do quickly." He scans the city and reaches out with a slender finger. "Follow this path, and take two rights. Keep going straight from there, and you should arrive at the temple eventually. I'll meet up with you when I'm done." An undertone of urgency runs through Yunho's voice. 

"Yun—" 

Before Seonghwa can even complete the name on his lips, Yunho whirls about-face and pads over to Hongseok, throwing his arms over the elf's shoulders. He reaches around Hongseok's neck to tug his veil off one ear. Yunho smiles a sultry smile before grabbing Hongseok by the back of the head and pulling him into an open-mouthed kiss.

Seonghwa immediately turns away, his heart pounding and goosebumps rising on his skin. Against his better judgement, he hurries down the path that Yunho had outlined for him, fighting the nauseating unease that crawls up his throat. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of things happened in this chapter, so I'm sorry if it was too much!  
> I love Hongseok, I really do, so of course I had to make some space for him~ Unfortunately Yunho doesn't like him half as much as I do, but that's understandable in this case  
> Thank you all so much for reading, and I do hope you enjoyed!  
> I'll hopefully see you all in the next chapter~


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello dear readers, and welcome~  
> First of all, I'd like to thank you all as always for staying with me and reading, and I'd like to thank everyone who left a kudos as well, your support does mean so much <3  
> After this I may not be able to update regularly any more, as I have to prioritize my classes and work, but I will continue to write whenever I do have the time, so please be patient with me. I do intend to finish this.  
> Thank you kindly for understanding, and without further ado, let's go!

Arms laden with the bags of groceries that Yunho had left with him, Seonghwa lowers his head as he strides through the passages of the city, following Yunho’s instructions. A temple would be a safe place to rendezvous whenever Yunho was finished… Seonghwa shudders at the thought. 

The metropolis was a beautiful place, practically sussurating with magic, and reaching from ground to sky with magnificent feats of both architecture and technology, not to mention teeming with fantastical creatures that Seonghwa would have never imagined he would ever see, but it was terrifying. The gilt surface obscured a multitude of writhing maggots and filthy excesses that were, abominably enough, the norm, if Yunho’s behaviour was anything to go by. 

Suddenly he feels the nausea of crushing realization, why Yeosang wanted so badly to leave the others behind, why he couldn’t risk Greenwich being discovered. It only made sense that he wouldn’t want this loathsome pollution to curl its defiling fingers on the creatures that had fled for survival, reaching the only place where they could rest assured that they would not be dragged back. 

He stumbles as he bumps shoulders with someone, too preoccupied with his own thoughts to notice. Seonghwa tenses and grips his bags tighter to avoid upending their contents onto the pavement.

“Hey! What do you think you’re doing?”

Seonghwa breathes out a sigh and turns to face the elf he had aimlessly wandered into, on accident, if he could add. Not that he expected to have an opportunity to explain himself. He stares up at the elf that towered over him by a good few inches, and tentatively bows his head in apology. “I’m sorry, I should’ve watched where I was going.” 

“You should have, but you didn’t,” the elf sneers, and Seonghwa falters back as the elf advances on him. He hated confrontations, and he couldn’t guarantee that this wouldn’t become physical. Moreover, he knew that they were garnering quite the unwanted attention with their little spectacle, and he wonders if it was just another norm for this place, to have such short fuses.

“I apologized,” Seonghwa defends, his voice quieting despite himself. “What more do you want from me?”

“Nothing, he doesn’t want anything,” a voice calls calmly from behind him, and he stiffens as a set of midnight blue fingers curl around his arm. Before he can look back, another arm reaches past him, and a ringed finger points towards the belligerent elf from his other side. He realizes belatedly that whoever was behind him was quite literally right behind him, almost pressed against him, but between his options of staying still or making a run for it, the prior seemed wiser.

His eyes widen at the sight of the tattoo that resembled Yunho’s exactly on the hand of the elf behind him. He tenses as a bolt of fire whips out of the elf’s finger and scores his opponent a bruising mark over his arm, searing through a navy armband marked with a coiling triskelion, and burning a vicious bluish over his pale purple skin. The elf behind him lowers his hand, and releases his arm. He quickly ducks out of the elf’s grip. 

“You scholae mages should know your place,” the blue elf states sharply, lips coiled into a grimace of disgust beneath his face veil. “You wear the apprentice sigils with pride, and _not_ arrogance. Do _not_ think that you’re fit to be among the Imperial Mages because of a little battle affinity. He made an honest mistake. Leave him be.” 

“Why, is he your client?” the elf taunts, stepping up to him and staring down at him with a curled lip. “Don't count yourself so high and mighty. Once I get into the Imperial ranks, I’ll have you in my bed every night, and you’ll be singing a different tune. You concubines are the ones who should know your Maris-damned place.” Seonghwa’s flinches, a sudden pain shooting through his head, and he instinctively wonders if his fever had decided to return. His eyes widen as his rescuer is grabbed by the hemline of his robes, and pulled closer. The threads of his slightly sheer clothes tear under the aggressive grip, and Seonghwa’s heart jumps into his throat. 

A cruel smile curves onto the blue elf’s lips, as he reaches up and encircles his fingers around the aggressor’s wrist. “A lowly _brat_ like you thinks you can bed me?” Smoke billows from under his grip, and the acrid scent of burning flesh fills the air as the elf in his grip screams and jerks in his grasp. He keeps his grip firmly clamped down as indigo blood spills through the gaps in his fingers like water and lilac skin bubbles and bursts in a sickly display. “You really think that a common nobody like you will get a single night in the bed of the king’s favoured concubine? _Do you?”_

Although he doesn’t raise his voice, Seonghwa can almost feel the rage roiling off him in waves. He frantically looks around for someone to stop them before someone suffered lasting repercussions, but to his dismay, the surrounding elves seemed more preoccupied with the entertainment than the safety of either individual. 

Before he can interfere, the blue elf throws the hand of his aggressor away to reveal glistering pink flesh glazed with burnt, black blood and oozing suppuration. “That’s what I thought. If you ever touch me again, I’ll be sure to alert your betters and have you straggling in the scrapyards. Know your place, _vermin_.” He glares at the taller elf until he retreats in a bout of curses and blood. 

With a sigh, the elf surveys his audience and tilts his head. “Do you have nothing better to do than entertain yourselves with petty squabbles?” At his words, the small crowd disperses. 

Seonghwa tenses as he approaches him, instinctively faltering back a step. Beneath his face veil, the elf offers him a sympathetic smile. “Sorry you had to see that.” Seonghwa’s lips press into a thin line as a pair of glittering yellow eyes scan him curiously. “I don’t think I’ve seen you around before.” 

“I...was headed for the temple,” Seonghwa finally mentions. “I didn’t mean to—”

The elf shakes his head demurely. “No one does. The scholae’s mages-in-training almost always put themselves on top of the world. Bringing them down a few notches is an unfortunate necessity.” Seonghwa understood the words that left the elf’s lips, but he most certainly had no clue whatsoever of what they meant. The elf turns away from him and makes a graceful gesture towards the towering building in the near distance. “You said that you were going to the temple? I just happen to be heading there myself. Let’s go together.” 

“Not to be ungrateful or anything,” Seonghwa pipes up as the elf takes a step away. His hands tighten around his bags of groceries, and his forehead creases. “Why would you defend me? You don’t know me.”

The elf glances back at him and offers him a smile. “Well, I can’t just stand there and watch an innocent elf be pummelled by one of those scholae brats.” He shrugs nonchalantly. “Moreover, I could do with getting rid of some steam.” He gestures with his shoulder for Seonghwa to follow. “Come on. I promise I’m not out to get you.”

Ears reddening, Seonghwa follows him with a frown. “Sorry for the trouble.” 

“Not at all.”

They fall into silence, and Seonghwa almost blurts out a question that had been resting on his mind, but at the last moment he bites his tongue and pushes it to the back of his mind. He supposedly looked like just another elf. Suspicious questions could cost him his cover, and he was well aware that Hongjoong wouldn’t be too pleased if he blew his own cover because of a loose tongue. Fortunately, he liked to pride himself on his discipline.

He stares at the massive building, lined from ground to roof with massive, stained-glass depictions of idyllic scenes and sweeping mandala patterns. Shot through by sunlight, they spilled a kaleidoscope of colour onto the mosaic tiles as Seonghwa steps inside after the elf. His eyes widen at the sheer size of the interior, lined with braziers that burnt with flames of searing blue. He follows the elf through the long, main corridor to another domed area fringed by vertical sconces of glowing magic. 

Seonghwa's lips part as he tilts his head back to take in the statue of the elven goddess that towered over them within the domed expanse. An unexpected sense of wonder floods his chest, and he draws in a sharp breath, hesitantly stepping towards the silver altar that stood before it. Perhaps it was the skilfully played flutes and stringed instruments at the hands of elves clad in wine red that soothed him enough to relax. Perhaps it was the tranquility that existed within the temple, a separate entity from the frantically buzzing metropolis. Whatever the case, Seonghwa felt more at ease than he had since their arrival. If anything, energy flowed through him, washing away whatever remained of his fever.

He tentatively lays down his bags by the entrance and pads over the tiled floors, watching light steal over the lines of the tiles under his feet and spill through the sanctuary. A few elves standing in quiet veneration spare him a few glances, but he brushes it off. 

"Maris be praised, we've been blessed today," one of the red-clad figures exclaims, her words threaded with awe. Hums of agreement from the smattering of elves follow, and Seonghwa only watches curiously. It was such a gap from the callous behaviours he had seen so far; almost as though he had stepped into a new place entirely.

Beside him, the blue elf snorts, only to hide it behind a hand as a few other elves spare him dirty looks. Seonghwa's lips pull into a faintly amused smile and he raises an eyebrow. "Something tells me you didn't come here to pray."

"What do prayers do," the elf mutters softly, so as not to draw attention to them. "Empty words to deaf, stone ears. Even if Maris does watch over us, she doesn't care for the trouble we've brought on our own heads." Bitterness laces his voice, and Seonghwa doesn't dare ask why. The elf offers him a smile. "Sorry, not to be cynical. I actually came here for someone."

He strides away from Seonghwa to a figure robed in apple green and girded at the hip with one of those eccentric weapons. Seonghwa's eyes widen at the sight of familiar icy blonde hair and scarred ears, and as the blue elf approaches him, he glances back to offer a smile of greeting and a few murmured words. Seonghwa's jaw drops gracelessly. "Yeo...sang…?"

Although he had barely breathed the name, Yeosang's pupilless eyes catch sight of him and widen. The blue elf looks between him and Yeosang with puzzlement, and before Seonghwa can move an inch, Yeosang sweeps over the floor to stand in front of him, pale blue lips curling into a shocked frown. "Seonghwa…?"

"Hi…?" Seonghwa takes a step back as Yeosang gapes at him, and his eyes widen when he catches sight of the bandages wrapped around him under his robes. Seonghwa reaches out to grip his upper arms, his brow creasing. "What happened to you? You're hurt!"

Yeosang shakes his head and pulls away from Seonghwa's grip. "You know I heal quickly. That's the least of your worries." His eyes narrow. "What are you doing here? How did you even get here?" He tenses. "...are you the only one here?" Seonghwa winces at the tension in Yeosang's shoulders, fit to snap at any moment. 

His lips press into a line. "It was…" he drifts off and rubs the back of his neck. "It was an accident. We didn't intend on coming here—or at least not so soon." When Yeosang's lips curl into a grimace, guilt wells in Seonghwa's stomach. "It's a long story." He eyes Yeosang critically. Other than the bandages, he seemed relatively fine, and if his movements were any indication, even those weren't bothering him too much. "Have you been okay?

"I should be the one to ask you that," Yeosang responds with a sigh, raking his fingers through his hair. "You look well for someone that seemed on the verge of passing out before."

"And you know how to give out compliments as always," Seonghwa teases, unable to resist the smile that pulls its way onto his lips. "I don't really remember what happened, but I had a really bad fever afterwards. It's pretty much gone now."

Yeosang reaches up to touch his forehead, and Seonghwa ducks his head, caught off guard by the sudden gesture. His ears warm as Yeosang's fingers test his temperature, and he shakes his head. "I'm perfectly fine now. Don't worry about me." When Yeosang lowers his hand, silence hangs between them, and Seonghwa shifts his weight awkwardly from one leg to the other. 

Yeosang seems to relax at his reassurance, and nods. "That's good that you're doing well...although you still shouldn't be here." His eyes narrow and his voice sharpens. "Being here puts the others in danger—surely if you've been wandering around the city, you've seen it for yourself." Yeosang breathes out a rough sigh and rakes his fingers through his hair. "Seonghwa, I came here so that they wouldn't have to come back. You all must leave as soon as possible."

Seonghwa frowns. "The others are fine," he quickly assures. "...they agreed to not come to the city. I just came here with Yunho to get some food."

The distress that colours Yeosang's eyes immediately fades into indignation, and he meets Seonghwa's gaze incredulously. "Yunho is here?" His already pale skin blanches white. "You let Yunho come here?" Yeosang grabs his wrist and drags him aside before he can so much as breathe a response.

Seonghwa's pulse races under Yeosang's grip and he frowns, pulling his hand away. "He looked like he knew what he was doing—he told me to meet him in the temple—"

"Why did he not come with you?" Yeosang asks, his voice quieting into a hiss. Seonghwa blinks in surprise at the interjection. He frowns, rubbing his wrist absently. Yeosang's eyes narrow. "Seonghwa, why didn't he come with you? Where is he?"

"He…someone," Seonghwa winces, "someone paid for his services."

Pain floods Yeosang's gaze and his eyes gloss over. "I see." He retreats a step, his hand lowering to the stock of his rifle. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised." A bitter smile curves onto his lips. "I guess I couldn't do anything at all in the end."

Seonghwa flinches. "I'm sorry— I should have stopped him."

"Pardon me for interrupting, but you couldn't have." 

Seonghwa glances up to find the blue elf approaching them. Yeosang glances back with a frown. "Yeonjun, just because I'm lenient with you doesn't mean I approve of you eavesdropping on my conversations."

Yeonjun sweeps into a quick bow before straightening up and shrugging. "You seemed distressed, Prince Yeosang. It's my duty to ensure your well-being while Hongjoong is away." Seonghwa tenses at the mention of Hongjoong's name, but Yeonjun either doesn't notice, or ignores it. "However, if it's any consolation, the Concubine Prince is very capable. You should have more faith in him."

"It's not his ability that I'm concerned about," Yeosang bites back.

"Wait—what are you talking about?" Seonghwa interrupts. 

Yeonjun glances back at him. "About you not being able to stop him? You're not from around here if you don't know the common rules of the warhouses." Yeonjun holds up a ringed finger. "A concubine is required to always be prepared to give their services when requested." He raises another. "A concubine is obligated to offer their services to any Imperial Mage." He raises a third finger. "A concubine is only permitted to refuse an advance if payment has not been made." He lowers his hand. "There are no exceptions, and disobeying the rules will result in disciplinary action." 

"So since Yunho was paid by that Imperial Mage, he has to…" Seonghwa drifts off. Yeosang's lips press into a taut line, but he doesn't speak a word.

Yeonjun nods, lips pressing into a wry smile beneath his veil. "Exactly. Even if you wanted to do something, you couldn't have." He shrugs. "Don't feel too badly about it."

"At the very least, do you know who his client was?" Yeosang finally asks. 

Seonghwa's lips part. "His name was Hongseok."

Yeonjun smiles and rests a hand on Yeosang's shoulder. "I know him. He's a good person—he wouldn't harm the Concubine Prince." Despite his reassurances, Seonghwa could easily tell that Yeosang wasn't convinced. 

"Finding a good person among the Imperial Mages is like looking for a needle in a haystack," Yeosang mutters in response. He crossed his arms over his chest. "Seonghwa, I don't know how you all got the Clockworker to bring you here, but I'll have him bring you back as soon as I can."

Seonghwa blinks owlishly and rubs the back of his neck with a frown. "Here's the thing...he wasn't the one who brought us here. Apparently...it was me."

Yeosang's eyes blow wide, and Yeonjun's follow in close suit at his words. Yeosang's lips part, but for a few moments, no words escape them. He shuts his mouth and shakes his head incredulously. "You're joking."

Seonghwa opens his mouth to speak only for rapid footsteps to steal his attention. He glances over at the entrance to find Yunho stumbling into the sanctuary, hair disheveled and clumped by sweat, and robes bound with a flagrant disorderliness. The previously flawless pink skin was pockmarked at the collarbone and neck with purplish marks, and Seonghwa winces at the implication. Yunho combs his fingers through his hair and slows to a halt when he catches sight of Yeosang. Silence suspends between them as Yunho meets Yeosang’s eyes, and Yeosang’s lips curl into a displeased frown. 

“Yeo—”

Seonghwa tenses as Yunho sways on his feet, but before he has the chance to move, Yeonjun darts forward, and pulls from a satchel at his hip a steel syringe, stabbing the needle into the side of Yunho’s neck and injecting its contents into him. Yunho winces and catches himself, straightening to his full height and offering Yeonjun a grateful smile. “Thanks.” 

In response, Yeonjun chuckles. “He can be quite the beast, can’t he.” He slips the syringe into his satchel and glances back at Yeosang. Silently, he steps aside as Yunho tentatively approaches them. 

His skin seemed paler than normal, although at this point Seonghwa couldn’t be sure of anything he was seeing. Yunho’s lips break into a lopsided smile at Yeosang, whose eyes narrow. Yunho laughs sheepishly and rubs his still-flushed ear with a hand. “Yeosang.” 

“Yunho, what in the five hells are you doing here?” Yeosang demands, raising a hand. Hesitation crosses his eyes, and he lowers it after a moment. He grabs Yunho’s wrist, and drags him out of the sanctuary. 

Seonghwa exchanges a look with Yeonjun and then scurries for the groceries he had left by the entrance and quickly follows after the pair with Yeonjun in tow. He slows to a stop outside the temple, and then darts after them as Yeosang pulls Yunho into the temple alleyway. 

“You shouldn’t have come back here! Yunho I did this for you—”

Yunho shakes his head and tears off his face veil to reveal his dismayed frown. “That’s what you’re always saying, Yeosang! I know you did this for me. I know you were thinking of me. I know you only saved the others because of me.” His eyes darken. “But did you ever ask if this was really what I wanted you to do…?” Yunho lowers his head, averting his eyes from Yeosang’s. “You’re always like this Yeosang. You like to think you know what’s best for everyone. You don't even think of talking to your own brother.” 

Yeosang’s eyes widen. “Yunho, I—” His gaze hardens. “I can’t. You have to worry about your health already. You have enough on your plate.”

“And you don’t?” Yunho grips Yeosang’s arm, his fingers trembling slightly with exertion. “You always take on more than you can handle, Yeosang. One day you’re going to break if you don’t rely on us.” 

Clicking his tongue with annoyance, Yeosang pulls free of Yunho’s grip. “What will it change, Yunho? Moreover, what can any of you do?” He raises an imploring hand. “A concubine, a bunch of slaves, a prince of a fallen tribe, a half-blood…” His eyes narrow. “You must be joking if you think that you could do anything.” 

Yunho’s eyes widen. “Yeosang—”

“I had you sent to Greenwich to protect you, Yunho! Why couldn’t you have stayed there? Do you not realize how dangerous this is? Your body can only take so much, and the others are all fugitives and outcasts! If they find…” he drifts off. “If they find them, they’ll certainly kill them. And if they find out you were with them, you'll be punished!” 

“You say that as though you haven’t already been punished!” Yunho retorts. He draws in a slow breath and shakes his head. “Moreover, there’s nothing you can do. The alignment of the stars sealed the barrier gate, and Clockworker Saturnus won’t be able to open it.”

Yeosang rubs his temples irritably, his shoulders slumping. “That’s right. It was Seonghwa.” His eyes drift over to Seonghwa and Yeonjun and he frowns. “Well, don’t just stand there.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “If you’re here, I do expect you to explain yourselves.” 

And Seonghwa does, or at least to the best of his ability, voice hushed so the matter doesn't reach unwanted ears. Yeosang listens in a stony silence, his forehead knitting into a frown that only continued to deepen, and by the end, Seonghwa felt as though he was trying to bore holes into his head with his eyes. His lips purse into a frown. 

“Seonghwa, we need to get you out of the city,” Yeosang states after a few moments of silence. When Seonghwa blinks owlishly, puzzlement colouring his gaze, Yeosang meets his eyes insistently. “If our father finds out that you have the ability of a Clockworker, they’ll come after you too. And if you don’t know what happened, then it may happen again when you least expect. It’d be a death sentence for it to happen in the metropolis.” 

“I...agree,” Yunho finally concurs with reluctance. “Clockworker Saturnus’ identity was hidden by the adherents of Maris because he’s also the High Priest. But if anyone finds out about you, you’re going to have a bounty on your head. The Imperial Court has been looking for a path to the other dimension for decades.” 

“I have my suspicions that there’s an Imperial agent among the adherents,” Yeosang reveals with a sigh. He looks from one to the other, and meets Yunho’s gaze. “There you go. If you’re this insistent on doing something, then keep him away from the Imperial affiliates until we figure out how we can send all of you back to Greenwich.” Yeosang rubs his temples and offers Seonghwa an almost apologetic look. “I know this isn’t what you wanted. It’s my fault for letting you get involved—I’m sorry.” He bows his head. 

The dread that had settled in Seonghwa’s gut since he had come to in this strange world rears its ugly head and he stares blankly at Yeosang as though he had said something in an unfamiliar language. He draws in a steeling breath and straightens his back. “Don’t...Yeosang, it’d have happened eventually anyway,” Seonghwa murmurs. “I’m not normal. I know that now. At the very least, I’m grateful that this kind of thing happened around people who’ve seen it before. If my family or other normal people got dragged here because of me, we’d be in a much worse position right now.” 

“You have a point,” Yunho admits, picking absently at the clasp of his choker. “But if we could pick and choose, we’d still never want to put you in this situation.” His gaze softens sympathetically. “We’re used to this treatment. You’re not, Seonghwa.” 

“Nonetheless, he’s not safe by himself, even if he does return to Earth. If the Imperial Mages could attack me through Jeongin, I don’t doubt that they would go after Seonghwa next if they discovered his clockworker ability.” Yeosang glances at Yunho. 

“We’ll keep him safe,” Yunho assures. He smiles. “I actually stopped by the forum before coming for Seonghwa to grab myself a correctional lens.” He blinks owlishly. “I’ll have to get Hongjoong to help me remove these contacts...they’re losing their usefulness pretty fast.” 

Yeosang’s lips curve into a smile despite himself, and Seonghwa catches himself staring. He quickly shifts his gaze away. Yeosang reaches out to touch Yunho’s bicep and squeezes his arm firmly. “You really should learn how to put those in yourself.” He clears his throat. “Anyway, as nice as this conversation is, I have to go, and so do you.” He nods. “I’ll see if I can contact Clockworker Saturnus as soon as possible, and you go back to the others. Tell them to protect Seonghwa.” He catches Seonghwa’s gaze. “Be careful. You don’t deserve to be hurt because of something you didn’t know of.” 

“I like to think I could take decent care of myself,” Seonghwa responds instinctively, but deep within him, he knows that Yeosang’s warning wasn’t a patronizing one. He knew nothing of his own abilities, nor did he know the details of magic in this world. He was as defenceless as a newborn fawn, whether he wanted to admit it or not. He breathes out a sigh, the edge around his eyes softening. “But I’ll try to keep myself safe.” 

Yeosang smiles once again, this time at him, and he feels his ears warm. He reaches up to rub the back of his neck awkwardly and averts his eyes. Yeosang breathes out a huff of amusement. “Please, for the sake of my sanity.” 

“If only I could say the same,” Seonghwa responds with a resigned sigh. His lips curl into a wry smile. “Maybe Wooyoung was right. Maybe I really _am_ insane.” 

Yeosang’s eyes widen, and he slaps his hand over Seonghwa’s mouth, his gaze darting around the alley, and narrowing suspiciously at the elves wandering the street. Yeonjun glances up from the corner and offers him an ok with his fingers. He relaxes, and lowers his hand from Seonghwa’s mouth. Seonghwa’s ears burn red and his eyes widen indignantly. “What was that for?”

“Don’t say that name here,” Yunho responds for him. “Or at least don’t let anyone hear you.” He exchanges a look with Yeosang, and hooks his face veil over his ears once again, reaching up to straighten out his hair. “We’ll leave right away.” 

“Good.” Yeosang breathes out a sigh. “And for Maris’ sake, Yunho, next time just send a hologram instead of coming here yourself.” He frowns. “I can get you whatever you need.” 

Yunho’s lips part, and for a brief moment he seems on the verge of an argument, but he thinks better of it and snaps his mouth shut with a terse nod. “All right.” He offers a smile. “Hongjoong will be glad to know you’re doing fine.” He glances over at Seonghwa. “Shall we go?”

Seonghwa frowns, eyes darting from one face to the other. He breathes out a sigh and offers Yeosang a smile as well. “You be careful too, all right? I’m sorry for putting you in this situation.” 

“Nonsense,” Yeosang brushes off. “Seonghwa, if anything, you’re a fortunate premature discovery.” He turns away from them, padding back to Yeonjun. “Who knows what would have happened if the Empire got to you before we did.” 

Seonghwa doesn’t even have the opportunity to bid him goodbye before he swiftly disappears into the throng of the city. He frowns and retrieves the groceries before glancing back at Yunho. He nearly steps out of the alley, only to be abruptly pulled back by Yunho, who pins him against the wall and leans over him, his pupilless eyes flickering over to the street. Seonghwa catches sight of navy-robed elves flying past on strange contraptions that vaguely reminded him of motorcycles. His lips press into an unamused line. “Yunho…?”

“City patrol. They normally stay away from the temple—someone must have blown our cover.” He leans closer until Seonghwa can feel his breath against his ear. “...we need to get out of here.” 

By this point, whatever remained of Seonghwa’s shock was gradually and steadily being replaced by irritation; irritation towards the unprecedented situation, irritation from the injustices he had seen, irritation at Yunho’s bizarre situation, and the responsibilities that he had piled onto Yeosang’s plate. He glimpses Yunho’s gaze that seemed to swim as he gathers in each detail of their surroundings, and he slips out from under him. “Come on, let’s go.” He pushes a few bags into Yunho’s arms. “If our cover’s blown, then they’ll probably be waiting for us at the city border anyway.”

Seonghwa pushes a few bags into Yunho’s arm before grabbing his wrist and dragging him out into the street. He scans the area and his eyes narrow at the Imperial Mages as they catch sight of them. He meets Yunho’s eyes, only to find a grin curling onto his lips. Yunho laughs. “I wouldn’t have thought you’d be a risk-taker,” Yunho remarks, raising a hand and drawing a glowing line through the air. He drops his bags into the small rift before grabbing Seonghwa’s and tossing them in as well. He manoeuvres a hand to grab Seonghwa’s arm, running through the city as shouts accompany them, and the buzzing of magic engines fill the air. 

Yunho glances back at him and heaves him over the railway mere moments before the train crashes past. His tattooed hand glows, and he sweeps Seonghwa up with an arm under his knees. Yunho's steps somehow gain speed despite the fact that he was now carrying him, and Seonghwa wonders why he was even surprised by anything any more. Seonghwa’s eyes widen and he grabs onto Yunho’s shoulders on instinct as the wind whips his hair to the side. 

Yunho speeds through the forum and springs up onto the grooves of one of the spiralling skyscrapers as the Mages zoom past. He grins. “Amateurs.” Seonghwa, on the other hand, was quite preoccupied with holding on to Yunho for dear life. 

“Watch your head!” Seonghwa cries out, his eyes widening as a terrifying hippogryph with cyber-armoured wings mounted by another mage dives towards them with a screech. Yunho whirls around, his eyes widening, and Seonghwa braces himself for impact. 

A horrific screech resounds through the air, and Seonghwa’s eyes open to find another of the creatures grappling with it. He gasps. “Yeosang!”

Yeosang’s hippogryph ducks under a hooked beak, and barrel rolls to attack the underbelly of the other creature, scrawling razor-sharp talons over the soft flesh and raining down droplets of crimson blood. Yeosang ducks a well-aimed swipe from the mage’s javelin and guides his steed upright once again. 

“What are you doing here?” Yunho exclaims, his eyes widening. “You’re just going to get yourself incarcerated again!”

“I tried to stop him, but the Imperial Prince is quite stubborn,” Yeonjun sighs from behind Yeosang, tossing something towards them. 

Seonghwa reaches up to snatch the glittering object out of the air with hand, only to yelp and lurch as the wings of the hippogryph nearly smack him off Yunho’s arm. He grips it to his chest, lowering his centre of gravity for balance. 

“I already told you, enough with the Imperial Prince nonsense!” Yeosang snaps, hooking his leg over a groove in the hippogryph’s wing armour, and hefting his bladed rifle off his hip. Seonghwa’s eyes widen as he takes aim.

“What are you—” his words cut off into a graceless yell as Yunho releases his handhold, sending them careening to the pavement, just as the city patrol gathers around them, and the elven populace clears out of the scene. A gunshot resonates through the air, and an animalistic shriek follows. 

Yunho’s eyes narrow, and he raises a glowing hand. Clouds gather in the midday sky and crackle with electricity. As a bolt of lightning crashes into the street, illuminating the square with a blinding light, Yunho glances back at Seonghwa. “We only have a few seconds,” he tells him, his voice threaded with an undercurrent of urgency. “Help me remove my contacts.”

“Yunho, I really don’t think now is the time to be worrying about your contacts—”

“Now isn’t the time to be wasting time, just do it,” Yunho interjects sharply, and Seonghwa frowns. He reaches down and opens Yunho’s eye with one hand, pinching out his contacts with the other. As the transparent lenses fall onto Yunho’s robes and cling to the fabric, he blinks owlishly, his eyes narrowing. “Thanks.” 

As the light fades, Seonghwa’s eyes widen at the guns pointed towards them, charged with a glowing magic. “Are they trying to kill us?!"

“They won’t want to kill you if they know what you are,” Yunho mutters under his breath, his silvery gaze zoning in on a space between two of the mages. “And really, when it comes to me, who knows what they want.” He mumbles something under his breath that Seonghwa doesn’t quite catch, but he has a sneaking suspicion that it was a curse. Yunho’s eyes flicker over to him for the briefest of moments, and he unclasps one silver wristband, tucking it away. “Hold on tight.” 

“I’ve been doing that this en—” Seonghwa gasps as the guns fire off their beams of crackling, raw magic. He squeezes his eyes shut. He waits, an icy terror sinking into his bones.

When he opens his eyes, he tenses at the sight of Yunho’s pearlescent hand, throbbing with excruciating, purplish veins as he seems to physically grasp the magic that had been fired towards them, melding it into a singular mass of pulsating magic. Although Yunho intentionally held him as far from it as possible, he could feel the freezing heat that threatened to consume him, so very similar to what he had felt in the celestial dimension.

He flinches as Yunho manoeuvres the mass of raw magic and thrusts it into the ground, sending a rippling shockwave into their surroundings. The glass of the windows shatter and fly through the dusty air as the pavement fragments beneath their feet. Yunho jumps away from the chaos as the wave strikes the mages, sending them flying off their motor vehicles and crashing to the ground. His eyes widen as one of the glowing pipes burst, sending a flood of burning, raw magic spilling through the streets, burning through the metal and stone like acid. The shockwave crashes through the city for metres before waning.

Yunho breaks into a run, leaving the scene of carnage behind. Seonghwa can barely hear through the sounds of stone crumbling onto the pavement like rain. Yunho easily dodges the debris, almost as though he could see where it would fall before it did fall. Through the mayhem, Seonghwa can hear the infuriated cries for the neck of the Concubine Prince, and he shivers, forcing himself deaf to the curses, the screams, and the infernal humming of magic.

His eyes narrow to see through the dust until they finally break free from the reach of the magical destruction that Yunho had caused. His eyes widen at the sight of the border mages gathered into a blockade. Behind the blockade, the air shimmers and crawls with white cyber lines, and Seonghwa belatedly realizes that it must be some kind of barrier that had been erected. He tenses. “Yunho—” 

“I know. Just hold on,” Yunho insists. Seonghwa wants to make a sharp comment about the exhaustion that he can hear in Yunho’s voice, but he instead ducks and clings to Yunho as he weaves through the beams and waves of magic that are thrown at them with an almost too-practiced ease. Seonghwa gasps as one catches his shoulder blades, eating through his skin and crawling into his nerves like malicious centipedes. He bites his lip to muffle a cry of pain that threatens to tear free from his throat. 

Yunho slows as he approaches the blockade and raises his fingers towards the mages, his eyes narrowing. “I didn’t come here to hurt anyone. Let us through.” 

Seonghwa recognizes the guard who had let them into the city despite the rapidly calculating holographic screens that covered his face. A sneer crosses the lips of the mage. “Don’t be a fool, Concubine Prince. You’ve been on the fugitive list for a while. We know you orchestrated the escape of the prisoners. You gave us a real field day, running after all of them.” The mage advances on them, hefting a glowing crossbow from his hip. “It’s strange. We couldn’t find Fallen Queen Protasia's brat, and we couldn’t find you or the Imperial Prince either.” 

Beneath him, Seonghwa can feel Yunho’s arm trembling, and he tenses at the realization that Yunho was at his limit. He was bluffing; Seonghwa knew that he didn’t have the strength to break through the border guards after the stunt he had pulled earlier. 

“Oh, really? That’s sad, maybe you should try looking a little harder next time,” Yunho retorts, his voice somewhat strained. 

Seonghwa’s grip on his shoulder tightens. “Yunho, let me down,” he hisses. When Yunho’s grip on him only tightens, he frowns.

“You think that a little training can set you on the same level as the Imperial Mages?” the guard taunts. “You have some gall, _concubine._ Stand down and be an obedient vessel, or it’ll be a great loss for the warhouses.” 

Yunho’s eyes darken, and Seonghwa’s breath catches at the unadulterated bitterness within them. He frowns as Yunho spits at the ground, his lips curving into a grimace. “I’d rather die than lend someone like you my power again.”

The guard smiles, a cruel, emotionless thing that raises goosebumps on Seonghwa’s skin. “Your wish is my command Concubine Prince.” He fires a white arrow seething with malevolent magic and Seonghwa tenses as it pierces through Yunho’s shoulder. Yunho’s jaw tightens and his grip spasms. 

Seonghwa catches himself as he falls out of Yunho’s grip, and tenses as the guard levels his bow towards him. “As for you, you’ll be incarcerated for attempting this miserable excuse of an escape with the Concubine Prince.”

His heart leaps into his throat, and Seonghwa’s eyes widen as the bowstring snaps and the second arrow flies directly for his head. He closes his eyes, blood rushing in his ears as he ducks, instinctively trying to shield Yunho from any more harm, desperately wishing that he had insisted they stay with the others.

A familiar groan of metal on metal echoes in his ears, and he looks up to find a glowing rift tearing open before them, gears splitting apart enough for them to squeeze through. Through the movement of the metal, he swears he hears the gasp of “Clockworker!” but he can’t bring himself to worry about that. Grabbing Yunho’s arm, he drags him through the portal. His eyes widen as the elf lunges after them, only for the barrier to close in on his arm.

Nausea crawls up Seonghwa’s neck as the gears press together with a sickening crunch, and a muffled scream of agony oozes from behind them. The rift stitches shut, and the severed arm falls onto the grass in a gruesome mess, dripping with indigo blood and staining the air with the sickly metallic scent. Seonghwa retches and crumbles onto his hands and knees. He vomits onto the grass, his arms trembling with disgust, and his wounded shoulder blades burning from where the magic had flayed his skin clean off.

A hand rests on his lower back, and he tenses. Bile creeps into his mouth and he coughs, spitting it out onto the grass as the beginnings of tears bloom in the corners of his eyes from the force of his sickness. Yunho rubs his back until he finishes hacking up the last of whatever was in his stomach and rolls back to sit down on the grass with an exhausted sigh. 

“Are you all right?” Yunho asks from beside him, and he glances over to find him retrieving the severed arm. Gristly strands of sinew drip over the sleeve where the limb had been crushed and pulled away, and Seonghwa retches once again, turning away and fighting down the urge to vomit.

“I should be asking you that—why are you holding that thing? Get rid of it—” He coughs and spits out the bitter saliva on his tongue. 

Yunho removes the gauntlet from the hand before tossing away the bloody appendage. He clips on his wristband and sits down on the grass beside Seonghwa, gauntlet in hand. “I’m fine...but you—”

“I wasn’t referring to you, I was talking about that.” Seonghwa turns to fix him with an unamused stare as he points an accusatory finger towards the now-faded metal arrow embedded in his shoulder. 

Yunho glances down, his eyes widening as though seeing it for the first time. His lips part. “Oh.” 

Seonghwa winces at the indigo stain that seeps into Yunho’s yellow robes. ‘We need to get that out of you…” He swallows back another wave of nausea. 

Reaching up, Yunho tugs off his face veil and draws in a tired breath. “That’s right, we do,” he agrees faintly. “Maybe I’ll just…” He reaches up, his fingers encircling the arrow. Seonghwa’s eyes widen. 

“Oh, no. No, no, no, you are _not_ going to just pull it out.” He pries Yunho’s finger off the metal shaft with surprising ease. Yunho’s eyes glaze over, and he nods meekly, muttering something else under his breath. Seonghwa’s lips part, but before he can speak, Yunho’s head slumps against his shoulder. Seonghwa’s eyes widen. “Yunho…? Yunho?” He tenses. “Yunho!”

Yunho falls off his shoulder and tumbles gracelessly onto his lap, the fletch of the arrow hitting the ground and driving it farther into his shoulder. Seonghwa’s pulse races as he frantically moves away and shifts Yunho onto his back. He murmurs a quiet profanity under his breath that he almost immediately apologizes for in silence as his eyes dart from one area of the forest to the other. They were alone, Yunho was drained and injured, and Seonghwa had no idea where they were or what they should do.

He spits out the remains of bile on his tongue and slowly pushes himself to his feet. A breeze laps at his wounded back, and he flinches, but fights to ignore it. He was better off than Yunho was right now. Although he had managed to pull off a flashy escape, he felt no repercussions from it. If anything, minus the pervasive nausea and the searing wound that spanned the upper part of his back, he felt fine. 

Seonghwa rests a hand on Yunho’s forehead and winces. That temperature definitely wasn’t normal, even for an elf. Beads of sweat form against the pink skin of his forehead, and his breaths were alarmingly shallow. Seonghwa’s brow furrows as he eyes the arrow wound. It was embedded deep within the flesh. Seonghwa winces and touches the shaft, only for it to remain firmly lodged. Even he knew better than to remove it.

He draws in a breath and sits down beside Yunho. He didn’t know if there were any Imperial Mages around, and he didn’t dare wander around—not after promising Yeosang to _try_ stay out of trouble, although he has a sneaking suspicion that, around these people, the chances of that weren’t very likely. 

His eyes catch a silvery glint among the blades of grass, and he reaches for the strange capsule that Yeonjun had thrown at him. Seonghwa twists it and pulls it apart, staring in curiosity as a blue, holographic screen opens up between the two halves. Words in an unfamiliar script run over the screen, and he breathes out a sigh. Perhaps it was intended for Yunho. He quickly snaps the capsule shut and pockets it.

The grass rustles with the occasional breeze, and the creatures of the forest chirrup among the branches, and for a brief moment Seonghwa is lulled, relaxing enough to bask in the blessed tranquility. The early evening sun strikes his face, and for a split-second, he could almost forget about the pain that ate at his back.

Naturally, as he was beginning to learn, it could never last for long. The muted thud of footsteps enters his perception, and his eyes dart around the copse. He sidles closer to Yunho, sucking in a deep breath to calm himself down as he attempts to formulate some kind of plan to somehow get himself and Yunho out of there. It’d be a crying shame if Yunho had exerted so much energy only for them to be caught within minutes of their escape. 

The undergrowth rustles, and Seonghwa grabs a stray stick. It wasn’t much, but having something he could hit with _did_ help his confidence somewhat. He pads towards the source of the movement, careful to keep his footsteps as silent as possible, and brandishes the stick. 

As a head pops out, Seonghwa brings the stick down. It snaps in two with a crack upon impact.

Jongho grimaces and glares at him, rubbing the back of his head. Seonghwa’s eyes widen and he drops the half of the stick in his grip. “Jongho! Sorry, I—” 

Waving him off, Jongho takes in the scene with a frown. Seonghwa circles around to see if he had caused any damage, since he had struck Jongho pretty hard, only to find nary a bump. His eyes widen, but he quickly pushes his surprise away. At this point, a little hardiness was the least of the things that he should be surprised about. He quickly darts back to Yunho. “We need to get medical attention for him,” he states. “Thank goodness you found us—”

Jongho pads over to Yunho and crouches down. He slips his hands under Yunho’s frame and hefts him up with ease. This time, Seonghwa does gape a little because Yunho definitely couldn’t have been that light. Jongho glances back at him, and jerks his neck for him to follow. With a nod, Seonghwa falls into step a little behind him. 

“He...we had to run. They were hunting him down,” Seonghwa reveals softly. “Yeosang bought us some time to escape, but he had to fight his way out with magic and he—” Seonghwa pauses to gather himself. He stares at Jongho’s braided hair from behind him. Jongho doesn’t spare him so much as a glance. “I’m sorry, I should’ve been more careful.” This time Jongho does glance back at him and merely shakes his head. Guilt wells in Seonghwa’s chest. 

He remains silent as Jongho navigates the forest calmly until they break into a clearing by a river. Wooyoung prods at a fire a little ways away from the river while Hongjoong grows a few roots to firmly ground a small, makeshift shelter for them. Seonghwa doesn’t locate San at first, but with a quick glance up, he catches sight of the sylph floating downwards to alight on the ground. They glance up as he enters the clearing after Jongho, and Hongjoong’s eyes widen. 

“What happened to you?”

Jongho lays Yunho down by the fire, and Wooyoung glances down at him with a scowl. “What in the five hells did you two do?” He reaches over to tap the arrow. “Can’t you go anywhere without some kind of disaster following you?”

“We had to— _he_ had to fight our way out,” Seonghwa reiterates. “Help him and scold me later!”

“Besides, I hardly think you’re one to talk,” Hongjoong adds. Wooyoung rolls his eyes and mutters something unsavoury under his breath.

San pads over to Yunho, and slips a hand under his neck, lifting his head. His eyes widen. “He's almost running on empty! It shouldn’t be possible for him to expel so much magic so quickly! What did he do?”

Wooyoung’s nose wrinkles and he raises an eyebrow at San. “Isn’t it obvious? He practically reeks of sex.” He curls scaled fingers around the shaft of the arrow, and before Seonghwa’s eyes the rod begins to glow an incandescent red. The acrid stench of burning flesh fills the air as Wooyoung rips the glowing arrow out of Yunho’s shoulder with a spurt of indigo blood, immediately cauterizing the wound in the process. Even unconscious, a groan elicits from Yunho’s lips. 

“Wooyoung, please at least _try_ to be more gentle,” Hongjoong sighs. 

“Hey, I take my time, I increase risk of infection,” Wooyoung retorts. “It’s not like it’s gonna kill him.” He tilts the glowing hot arrow up at the sky, peering idly at it. His eyes widen and his pupils narrow. “Silvein—”

“Silvein?” San echoes, blowing a gust of frigid wind towards the arrow to cool it before plucking it out of Wooyoung’s hand and staring curiously down at it. He twirls the shaft between his fingers and lobs it into the air. “What’s that?”

Before Wooyoung can respond with a scathing remark or two, Hongjoong snatches the arrow out of midair. “Silvein. Metal artificially forged by the dwarves to have the highest magic conductivity of any other kind of metal.” He frowns at the arrow. “But the dwarves have historically never agreed to broker any kind of trade deals with the elves.” 

“What’s so important about metal though?” Seonghwa asks, wincing as a gust of wind strikes the torn fabric of his shirt and cuts through his excoriated skin. Hongjoong’s brow furrows, and he tosses the arrow into the fire before approaching Seonghwa. When he turns his back, Wooyoung reaches into the flames to retrieve the arrow.

“It’s not the metal itself that’s important,” Hongjoong states, carefully peeling Seonghwa’s sweater off his back. Seonghwa winces and bites his lip to keep himself from uttering a cry of pain as the fibers catch against his raw skin. “It’s that there’s no way the dwarves would strike deals with the elves. Not unless it was some kind of life or death situation.” He chews up a poultice of plants and slathers it over Seonghwa’s shoulder blades, eliciting a groan of relief from him. “You didn’t happen to see any dwarves while you were in the city, did you?”

“I didn’t,” Seonghwa replies. “...if I did, I didn’t notice.” He frowns as his shoulder blades begin to itch, and he reaches back. A vine catches his wrist and holds it away. 

“Don’t scratch it. I’ve made a quick graft. It’ll fall off naturally when your skin heals,” Hongjoong informs. He slaps Seonghwa’s back firmly, sending him stumbling forward. Seonghwa whips around to flash him an unamused stare, only to realize that there was no more pain at his back. He reaches over his shoulder to feel the leathery weaving of plant fibers that latched onto his back like a second skin. He breathes out a sigh. “Thanks, Hongjoong.” 

He smiles. “We can’t have you getting injured on us.” 

“Or you’ll drag us down!” Wooyoung calls in an obscenely loud monotone from the fireside. 

Before Seonghwa has the chance to retort, San flicks a marble at Wooyoung’s head, and Wooyoung yelps as it whacks his temple and flies back into San’s grey hand. He whirls around to glare at the sylph, only for San to grin winningly at him. With a roll of his eyes, Wooyoung reaches out to pinch San’s cheek between his thumb and forefinger until he squeaks and darts out of his grip, leaving small wisps of smoke in his wake. 

Hongjoong rolls his eyes at their antics before grabbing Seonghwa by the arm and tugging him away from them. He leads Seonghwa into the small shelter of vines and leans against the wall, meeting his eyes. The good humour in his gaze fades away. “Seonghwa, answer me seriously. What happened?”

Seonghwa retells their ordeal as succinctly as he could muster without hesitation. At the very least, he knew he could trust Hongjoong with the information. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the capsule. “...and before we ran, Yeonjun gave us this. It has some kind of message on it, but I don’t recognize the script.” 

Hongjoong retrieves the capsule and twists it, pulling open the screen. As the words scroll along the holographic strip, his eyes narrow. “This…” He squints at the words before shaking his head. “This is for Yunho. The concubines share a encrypted language so they can transfer information and supplies uninterrupted. Their job is a grueling one, so efficiency is paramount.” He sighs. “I can read this, but it means nothing to me.” He slips the capsule into a satchel at his hip. “If Yunho truly did do what you said he did, we must replenish him immediately or his symptoms will worsen.” 

“Replenish him?” Seonghwa echoes. 

“Explanations can wait,” Hongjoong dismisses, hurrying out of the shelter and padding over to the fire. Wooyoung, San and Jongho glance up at him, and he pushes the sleeves of his brown tunic up his arms, rolling Yunho onto his side. “Wooyoung, San, let’s lend him our power.” 

Wooyoung’s brow furrows. “What? You can’t be serious. I’m not lending him anything!” 

Hongjoong fixes him with an exasperated stare. “Surely you don’t still think that he’s not on your side.” 

As Wooyoung opens his mouth for a sharp counter, Jongho rests a hand on his shoulder from behind him and draws the nail of his thumb across Wooyoung’s scarred neck silently. Wooyoung whips around to stare at him, golden eyes blazing. “What do you think you’re—” his words cut off abruptly when Jongho’s lip curls with disapproval. 

“He...did save us,” San points out quietly. “He didn’t do anything bad.” 

“Maybe _he_ didn’t,” Wooyoung grudgingly admits, “but I’ll be damned if I help any one of his kind.” His eyes narrow. “Don’t forget what they did to you, San! And you too.” His gaze flickers over to Hongjoong and his lips curl back to reveal pointed teeth in a snarl. “Do your people mean nothing to either of you?! Where’s your honour?”

San falls silent, and Hongjoong breathes out a sigh, rubbing his temples with a hand. “Wooyoung, we don’t have time to debate this. You aren’t betraying your people by helping someone who helped you.” 

“I’m not giving him anything! You two can do whatever you want, but I don’t owe him anything. _He’s_ the one who owes _me_. I...” Wooyoung drifts off with a growl as something akin to grief clouds his slit-pupilled gaze. He rises to his feet and storms down to the riverbank, dropping down onto the grass with his back turned to them.

Jongho’s eyes narrow and he breathes out a sigh. Hongjoong and San exchange a look, and a rueful smile curves onto Hongjoong’s lips. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to lend me a hand?”

“I’ll help!” San assures. He smiles. “I have to make myself useful somehow.” Jongho’s brow creases at his words, and he shakes his head, but San doesn’t seem to notice. 

Hongjoong offers him a grin, and reaches out to ruffle his hair. Hongjoong then moves his hand over the clasp of Yunho’s choker, unclipping the silver accessory and pulling it off his neck to reveal the white crystal embedded at his nape. Hongjoong pulls up his tunic and thrusts his hand into his chest, splitting apart the hardened, wooden skin and holding his hand inside the crack for a few moments. 

San pulls off his shirt, curlicues of smoke rolling off his skin as his body flickers, momentarily losing its opaque appearance. He slips his fingers through his incorporeal skin and into his chest as though it were thin air. He draws in a slow breath as his skin seems to seethe around his hand, small fragments dissipating into thin air as he waits. 

Jongho rises to his feet and pads over to Seonghwa with a raised eyebrow as he watches them with intrigue. 

Within a few moments, Hongjoong pulls his hand free from the crevice in his chest, holding within his fingers a glowing white orb of raw magic. His skin seals itself together as though nothing had happened, and he holds the orb to Yunho’s crystal, allowing him to absorb the magic in gradual doses. Yunho winces, his head thrashing, but Hongjoong holds him down at the temple with his free hand, a hard look in his eyes. 

San releases a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding as he pulls his hand out of his chest in a billow of translucent smoke to reveal a similar orb in his grasp. He meets Hongjoong’s eyes and holds it to Yunho’s crystal. As Yunho absorbs the raw power, Hongjoong lets out a humourless chuckle. “You didn’t need to give that much, San. You should take care of yourself too.” 

“I don’t need much,” San chirps back with a reassuring smile. “My power is everywhere. I’m not in any danger like he is.” 

Hongjoong’s eyes soften. “Thank you, San.” 

“As long as I can be useful,” San replies, to which Hongjoong shakes his head. He reaches down to clasp Yunho’s choker back around his neck, alleviating the anger of the veins that protruded beneath his skin. Yunho relaxes as Hongjoong rolls him onto his back and wipes the sweat off his forehead with a corner of his tunic. 

Seonghwa looks from one to the other with a frown and then glances over at Jongho. “I have so many questions." 

Jongho only shakes his head as he breathes out a longsuffering sigh. He offers Seonghwa an amused smirk and elbows him in the ribs before shrugging and gesturing vaguely towards the others. Seonghwa can't quite help the smile that cracks onto his lips. "No going back now, am I right? Might as well get as many answers as I can." Jongho shrugs and turns his gaze back to the fire as San floats a few feet into the air and drifts his way over to Wooyoung at the riverside. A frown curls onto his lips as the sylph rests a hand on Wooyoung’s knee, exchanging a muted conversation with him. Seonghwa catches the look in his eye and raises a curious eyebrow, but doesn’t mention anything of it.

Hongjoong glances over at them and breathes out a sigh, pulling a vial of some strange, purplish liquid from his satchel and unstopping it. He pulls back the stained, yellow fabric of Yunho’s robes and pours the contents onto the arrow hole that had been seared shut by Wooyoung. 

A sharp gasp draws Seonghwa’s attention to the fire, and his brow knits as Yunho abruptly sits upright, wide-eyed, only to wince and grip his shoulder. Hongjoong rests a hand on his back and guides his hand off the wounded area. Yunho takes in their surroundings with a frantic air around him. 

“Don’t move, you only just recovered your energy,” Hongjoong insists with a firm hand on Yunho’s shoulder. “We’ll sit still for a day or two.” 

Yunho stares blankly at him for a few moments, processing his words before shaking his head rapidly. “No, we can’t do that…” He scrambles to his feet despite Hongjoong’s protests.

“Yunho, sit down and rest for Maris’ sake!” Hongjoong rises to his feet and wraps a vine around Yunho’s forearm to steady him as he sways on his feet. “Please, we have to be in good condition before moving on.”

Glancing back at him, Yunho shakes his head, the remainders of his unconscious haze disintegrating from his eyes. "We have to get out of here!" He states, his voice firm. His eyes search the clearing and land on Seonghwa. “The Imperial Army knows that Seonghwa is a clockworker.”

Wooyoung whips around to stare at him, eyes wide with incredulity. He clicks his tongue and rises to his feet, gaze darting over to Seonghwa. His eyes narrow. “Couldn’t you have told this to us sooner?” he snaps. “You all really _are_ trying to get us killed!”

“I—” Before Seonghwa can defend himself, Yunho raises a tattooed hand.

“We don’t have time to bicker!” he insists, wincing as he takes a step, only to stumble. Hongjoong holds onto his arm, an objection on his lips, but Yunho leaves him no room for argument. "The King ordered a cohort of Imperial Mages to the Partavian Sea to attack the naiads. If we stay by the river, we'll be directly in their path!"

Seonghwa's eyes widen, and beside him, Jongho tenses. Hongjoong's brow knits into a frown, and he surveys each of them before nodding. "We can't let them find us."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this chapter was satisfactory! Although I'm still not at my best with action-heavy scenes, and especially not fight scenes, this was fun to try and write, and I'll work hard to improve even more  
> Seonghwa is always getting stuck in unwanted situations, and frankly, that isn't going to stop soon. I almost feel bad for him ^^;;  
> Thank you so much for taking the time out of your day to read, and I do hope you enjoyed~  
> I'll see you next time!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again to all you lovely readers, and happy belated new year to all of you!  
> It's been so long since I've been able to update this fic, and I'm really sorry for that. It's been hectic trying to organize the other things in my life, and just when I thought I'd catch a break, more thing to do landed on my plate, so I was unable to write for a long while. But I'm really grateful for everyone who's waited patiently and stayed with me and this fic despite the long hiatus, thank you all for your understanding <3.  
> Nonetheless, I am back with a new chapter for all of you, and I do hope that you enjoy it!

Yeosang's eyebrows wrinkle with displeasure as he sits with his elbows propped up on the glass table, welted fingers clasped together in front of his face to hide his frown. Stifling silence wafts around him and eventually becomes too heavy to bear. He lowers his fist to to the tabletop and rises abruptly to his feet. Circling his quarters, he grabs a satchel from a locked cabinet and strides to the door. He rips off the talisman and attempts to pull it open, only for it to refuse to budge. Swallowing back a profanity, Yeosang slams the heel of his hand against the metal workings. "I know you're there. I know you can hear me. I demand that you let me out!"

He hisses under his breath, nails screeching against the door. He takes a step back and glances at the balcony. He should have known better than to let Yeonjun follow him. Cold bumps rise on Yeosang's pale skin as he recalls the horror on Yeonjun's face as they had locked his wrists with suppression cuffs and taken his satchel from him. Yeosang held the brittle power of the crown, and had thus escaped a second encounter at the correctional rotundas in favour of being confined to his quarters. The discipline had been decided in silence, since enough unrest circulating the Imperial heir had proliferated the city without excess gossip about the aerial skirmish. 

Yeonjun was not so fortunate. While he was the king's favoured concubine, he was still an Imperial Concubine, and that entailed suffering the brunt of any misdeed. It wouldn't have been as heavy a weight on Yeosang's shoulders if he hadn't been the cause for Yeonjun's punishment. 

Yeosang grits his teeth, his eyes roaming the room for something—anything—that he could use as a weapon. Naturally, his bladed rifle had been confiscated, which wouldn't have been as tragic as it was, were his opponents not enhanced with magic atop their superior sensory abilities. In the end, an aberrant was an aberrant; he was inferior to them. 

He rushes out onto the balcony, his hands grasping the railing, only to flinch as crackling magic bursts aggressively from where his hands touch the bars, shooting through his nerves. He cries out more from surprise than pain and hisses under his breath, biting back the urge to say something less than savoury. He should have known better than to assume that they would leave the balcony unaltered. 

Either way his quarters were far too high above the ground to jump unless he wanted to shatter the bones of his legs and maybe bite his tongue off in the process too. Calling for his hippogryph was also out of the question. Even without seeing her, he knew they likely had her in cyber chains and a metal hood. 

Yeosang pockets the satchel and glances around again. It was humiliating to think that his railing hadn't even been reinforced with a mid-level charm, and he still had no chance of disabling it. It was just another of the many ways for the Imperial Mages to mock him. He was accustomed to it, of course, but it didn't make it any less of a spit in the face.

A wind whipping his bangs into his eyes and sending a draft into his skin draws his attention, and his eyes narrow as the white reptilian creature circles his tower before coming to a slow hover before the balcony. He shields his face with one hand as each flap of the wyvern's armoured wings send a gust of wind battering against him. Silver eyes narrow half from confusion, half to prevent them from drying, as Yeosang meets the knowing, gaze of the reptile. She raises an armoured wing to reveal the triquetra, and his eyes widen with glimmers of recognition. "You're from that time—"

As the wyvern drifts closer to the balcony, its metal-clad talons hook over the railing. Despite the crackling of magic it appears unfazed as it shrinks and loses the reptilian figure, it's bones snapping horrifically into a shape more personable, and Yeosang finds himself gaping at the young woman who sits calmly on the sparking railing, her narrow eyes fixating him curiously and white-scaled hands curled over the bar. "Imperial Crown Prince Yeosang Grantz," she greets with a slight smirk and a lisping accent. She dips her head in a courteous bow. Her dark hair, pulled into youthful twintails, falls over her twisted horns and briefly curtains her face before she sweeps them back behind her shoulders.

While Yeosang had never seen a wyvern take on a humanoid form before, it was the least of his worries at the moment. He steps back defensively. "Did the Crown send you?" He asks warily.

Her lips part to reveal rows of sharp teeth as her smirk falls into a disgusted grimace and she hops off the banister. "By the Great Aritea's wings, no," she hisses, her forked, white tails standing on end behind her. "I came here by my own decision." She crosses her arms over her chest. "To help Yeonjun...and you."

Yeosang's eyes narrow as his body naturally tenses. "...and how do you intend to do that?"

She shrugs, her gaze clouding for a brief moment before she pulls off her wrist gauntlet and holds up her clawed hand. Yeosang naturally follows her movements, and his lips part in astonishment as he catches sight of the black circle with ornate crosshairs wrapped around the focal point of an inverted triquetra. Although it had been scraping a century since he had seen the sigil, it was a difficult one to forget, and certainly far from one to be pleased about.

His eyes rise back to hers and his brow furrows. "...Liberation Core."

She slips the gauntlet back onto her wrist and its workings glow with a pale blue electricity. "You don't seem happy to see that."

"I didn't know there were any of you left," Yeosang responds bluntly. "The Liberation Core was an extremist, anti-monarchist group that was exterminated by the Imperial Army almost a hundred years ago...with all the fanfare you'd have thought they had conquered the dragon continent." He shakes his head. "Marauding as the Liberation Core is either a joke or a deathwish." He retreats back another step and raises his hands disarmingly. "I have nothing against you, but I don't trust you. I don't know you. Moreover, why should you trust me? I have the blood of the Imperial Crown running through my veins."

"It's good to know that the Crown Prince has some brains in him," she remarks with an amused, toothy grin, and Yeosang can't quite stop himself from raising an eyebrow. She hops off the railing and strides towards him. "I understand your hesitation, but you've made your position clear to the Liberation Core. On my discretion, I'm here to help you." 

Her smile fades into a frown as she stretches out a beckoning hand. "We shouldn't waste time talking. You can ask your questions later, but for now we have to recover Yeonjun. He's a crucial member of the Core, and we can't afford to let him suffer any permanent damages. I would have gone without your help, but ever since the reappearance of the Concubine Prince, the mages have cracked down on the warhouses. There's no spare somnilvarum to be found for him."

Yeosang's hand drifts down to the satchel in his pocket before stopping short and resting on his hip instead. His lips press into a thin line. "And how, exactly, can you be sure that I have somnilvarum in my possession?" He asks sharply. 

Her grin reappears. "Why, because your blood brother is the Concubine Prince, and now that I'm here…" She leans towards him and cocks an eyebrow. "I can smell it on you." Her blue eyes and slit-pupils made his skin crawl, but he refuses to show his discomfort. She seems to sense it nonetheless, and stands upright, resting a hand on her hip. "Now come with me. You can decide whether to turn me in to the Imperial Army after we've helped Yeonjun." 

Yeosang eyes her critically for a few seconds before breathing out a sigh. Of course the guards wouldn't be suspicious of a transportational creature that bore the Imperial Triquetra, even if it was a fraud. Despite her willingness to answer his questions, he was left with only more curiosities biting at him. 

His arm falls to his side. More importantly than all of that, he needed to help Yeonjun. He seemed to be well-acquainted with the wyvern—Yeosang had more than a few questions to ask him as well. He takes a step forward and nods. "I'll come with you if you give me a weapon." He pauses. "And tell me your name," he adds as an afterthought. 

She chuckles and reaches behind her back before presenting him with a blacksteel dagger. He accepts it thankfully and she hops back, balancing precariously on the railing with the ball of her armoured foot. She surveys him carefully for a few moments before breathing out a decisive huff. "...my name is Yeji." 

Without another word, she turns her back to him. Her limbs distend until Yeosang almost fears that her bones would tear through her skin. White scales run over her skin as her body grotesquely morphs back into that of a wyvern. She lowers her bisected tail to the floor of the balcony so that Yeosang could clamber onto her shoulder without being electrocuted by the railing. As he braces himself, she lifts off the balcony and flaps her wings a few times to gain height before settling into a smooth glide. 

Yeosang holds onto one of her neck spines with one hand and tightens his leg around her nape to steady himself as he peers down at the guards. Much to his dry relief, they didn't seem to care much for Yeji's presence, barely sparing her a second glance as she leaves the palace premises and dips towards the rotundas. He frowns, his skin stinging with the ghosts of the correctional protocols that he had received when he had returned. It seemed that Clockworker Saturnus' abilities were still severely limited to the Dean's turret and the temple sanctuary. 

The train of thought clouds Yeosang's mind with Seonghwa, dragging his lips into a frown. He couldn't be sure that no one had eavesdropped on his interaction with Seonghwa, but the last thing he needed was for the mages to squeeze any information out of him. It didn't matter whether Seonghwa was a Clockworker or not—he was innocent of this world and its evils, and Yeosang despised the thought of dragging him into a conflict that was not his own. He owed them nothing. Yeosang had no intention of taking advantage of his abilities; Seonghwa himself had mentioned not knowing how to properly utilize them to begin with. 

Before Yeosang's thoughts can carry him away, Yeji swerves gracefully past the sweeping towers and hovers between the pipelined road for a few moments. She lifts into the air once more and navigates among the domed structures before alighting in front of the rotunda that stood farther away from the rest. A pair of Imperial Mages loosely guarded the entrance, and at the sight of her, they square their shoulders and stand at attention. She flutters her wings before lowering her arms and allowing Yeosang to slip down the leathery stretch of her wing, landing on the ground with nary a sound. Yeosang exchanges a look with her and she merely stands still, the very paradigm of a transportational creature. He frowns and slips the dagger into his harness before padding towards the guards. 

"Imperial Prince Grantz, you are not permitted to enter," one of the mages states as they cross their magic-laden lances, effectively blocking his movement. He meets their eyes flatly, trailing his gaze from one to another in silence before shaking his head. 

"Lower your weapons." His eyes narrow. "That's my concubine that you've held there."

Neither guard makes any move to grant him passage. "General Xyrion has said that no one is permitted to enter the rotunda until the concubine has completed his correction."

Yeosang fights down the urge to shudder with revulsion at the implication. He squares his shoulders and eyes the guards up and down before taking a step back. "That concubine was given to me by the Imperial Crown. I'm well within my rights to claim that you've withheld me from my rightful property if you refuse to let me through." He crosses his arms over his chest. "You may have received orders from your general, but I am still your Crown Prince."

At last, he finds hesitation in their eyes. He raises a noncommittal hand. "If General Xyrion has any issues with it, then he can take it up with me." His eyes narrow. "Now lower your lances, and open the doors. That's an order." 

To his relief, they finally lower their weapons and offer him shallow bows. As they open the doors for him, he quickly enters in, his eyes scanning the domed premises. 

Yeosang all but runs in only to stop short, heart stuttering in his chest as his eyes widen with horror. His gut coils into knots and he covers his mouth with a hand to clamp down on the urge to retch. The effluvium of stale sweat, blood, and worse clung to the steel walls and wafted in the air like a humid blanket, and the screens and monitors hummed louder than the barely coherent groans that blew through the filthy air like the dust from tombstones. Behind him, the doors close.

Unlike his presumption, Yeonjun wasn't the only one inside the rotunda. Concubines hung from the shackles on the steel walls, ones whom he had never seen before, some stripped naked with the exception of their face veils, others covered in festering, purplish wounds, but all severely emaciated. Yeosang almost turns tail and retches at the sight of their veins twitching beneath their skin like tormented worms and their bones jutting out under pallid stretches.

The thrum of magic buzzed louder from glowing cylinders that loomed over them from the ceiling, connected to a stretch of wires that hooked into the necks of the concubines. He couldn't be sure whether they were being imbued with or drained of magic, and he didn't know which was worse either. Yeosang's face pales as a sickly, pale pink elf to his right retches and spits out a mouthful of blood, and oozing, greenish pus. He instinctively sidles away, scanning the area through unsettled eyes in search of Yeonjun. 

He had always been aware that the concubines' correctional rotunda was kept separate from the rest, but even the disciplinarians were expected to adhere to strict protocols and rules. Yeosang almost prays to Maris that his eyes were deceiving him and this wasn't real. It was too horrid to imagine; that this was either flying under the notice of the governors, or that they were simply turning a blind eye to it. 

The beginnings of a cold rage burns within Yeosang as he considers the possibility that Yunho had been brought here. He quickly shakes the thought out of his mind. He would have plenty of time to act up later. Now he needed to get to Yeonjun, even if it meant leaving the rest of these living corpses behind. 

Shakily, he scans the walls, flinching as pairs of hollow eyes turn to stare blankly at him. Some were too weak to even raise their heads. Others were unsightly messes of drool and blood. For all Yeosang knew they could have been here for days just as easily as they could have for months. He had seen the effects of withdrawal before, but never had it been so ghastly: their deadened gazes crawl against his skin like scavenging insects, threatening to eat into him until he decayed alive just as they did.

" _Somnilvarum…! He has somnilvarum!"_

Yeosang tenses at the hoarse hiss from somewhere above him. He involuntarily falters back as the few heads that hadn't lifted to stare at him finally do, their eyes dark and hazed with desperation. 

"Somnilvarum...give it to me!" one cries, revealing a mouthful of rotted teeth that barely clung to her gums.

"No! Give it to me!" another stronger looking elf yells hoarsely, pulling weakly at his restraints only to be shocked into a submissive mess of pained moans.

_"Give it to us! Give us somnilvarum!"_

Yeosang's hands instinctively cling to his arms protectively as he takes in the sight of the tortured elves howling their agony at him as they hang helplessly from their suppression cuffs. His brow furrows as his eyes rake the walls for Yeonjun among them. This time he does whisper a prayer to Maris that nothing had been done to him. 

"Prince—"

Yeosang's ears catch the reedy call among the wailing voices, and he singles in on Yeonjun. His blood freezes in his veins. It had only been a few hours since he had been dragged back to the palace and Yeonjun had been taken to the rotunda, but his cheeks had already become sunken and his skin ashy. A thin streak of blood on his cheek adhered his veil to his face, marring the delicate fabric. When Yeosang draws closer to the opposite side of the rotunda, his eyes trail over Yeonjun's angrily pulsing veins that cause spasms in his restricted hands. His robes had been torn open and Yeosang flinches at the sight of freshly-crusted, indigo blood splattered over the shallow cuts lacing his dark blue skin.

"Prince Yeosang—somnilvarum—" Yeonjun almost begs, the words slipping past his shrivelled lips as his citrine eyes meet Yeosang's gaze before drifting down to his pocket, the visceral glints of a desperate craving written on his ashen face. "Please—" 

The fury that shocks Yeosang to the core is quickly doused by the recollection of what he had come for. He would have time to channel his anger later, but for now his priority was to safely relocate Yeonjun, preferably with as little outside interaction as possible. 

Yeosang runs to him and pulls his satchel from his pocket. He forces himself to ignore the haunting wails of the other elves as he pulls it open and grabs the vial of purplish liquid. He winces as the cries turn into desperate screams and closes his eyes for a moment in attempts to block out the infernal noise that raised cold bumps on his skin. He opens his eyes to look up at Yeonjun with a frown. "Just wait a few seconds."

Pulling the syringe from the satchel, he fills it to the fullest degree with the fluid and knocks out the air bubbles against his knee. He stabs the needle into Yeonjun's neck and injects its contents into him as carefully as his knowledge allows him. As the fluid enters Yeonjun's body, he visibly relaxes, the colour beginning to return to his cheeks at a crawl. 

Yeosang moves to the monitors and quickly locates Yeonjun's identifier. With a few clicks, the cuffs slide off Yeonjun's wrists and ankles, and he crumples to his hands and knees on the filthy ground. Yeosang hurries back to him and helps him up onto his feet with a frown, closing his robes and pushing the satchel into his hands. "...looks like I get to repay you for what you did for me when I was in one of these," he remarks offhandedly, as he reaches for the dendritic wires that clung to the back of Yeonjun's neck like some horrific, cyber-parasite.

With a sharp tug, the wires separate from Yeonjun's crystal with a bright spark and a snap of electricity. The residue of purified magic clings to Yeonjun's blue skin like mucus, and Yeosang grimaces, distaste crawling down his spine, as he jerks the wire back to peel away the adhesive-esque strands. Yeonjun winces, but his lips press together stubbornly. He reaches back with a tattooed hand to cover the crystal as Yeosang tosses the live wire away like it would burn him. 

A slow, wry smile creeps onto Yeonjun's lips, but he doesn't speak a word as Yeosang hefts his arm over his shoulders and guides him out of the rotunda, shutting out the ululating pleas from the other elves. There was nothing he could do for them now; he couldn't bear to look them in the eye any longer.

It only took a little more coercion on Yeosang's part to escape the correctional premises with Yeonjun in tow. He didn't doubt that he'd have to face the disapproval of the mage general eventually, but he refused to sit still when an innocent elf was being admonished for his own behaviour. It didn't sit well with him to leave the other concubines in the rotunda, especially when he had his suspicions that a number of them were likely being punished for no wrongs, but he doubted the guards would take too kindly to him marching out with a following of concubines in his wake.

His jaw tightens as he glances back at the dome while he clings to the spines of Yeji's shoulder with his leg and grips Yeonjun's waist with an arm to help him hold onto her as she flies towards the palace. Even if he had somehow managed to free them all, he didn't have enough somnilvarum on him for them. It would be disastrous to let them wander the streets of the city; he had no choice but to leave them shackled to the walls in their half-maddened states. 

The very thought of their listless eyes trained on his every movement like some kind of barely living taxidermy made his skin crawl and his stomach churn. He had frequented the warhouses before whenever he would visit Yunho: lavish areas in the Golden Flower districts, constructed with opulence that rivalled the glory of the Imperial palaces and the temple of Maris itself. Hence never in his most twisted nightmares would he have expected the concubine rotunda to be so hideous. He dreaded to think about the extent of what the slaves had to suffer if the disciplinarians of the concubines subjected elves to this atrocity.

Yeosang refuses to admit that he may have let out an ungraceful squeak of surprise as talons scaled in iridescent white clip him by the waist and lift him from Yeji's shoulder as she deposits him on the floor of the balcony before doing the same with Yeonjun. She eyes them critically, her gaze unreadable before she contorts, her muzzle shortening and wings receding into scaled arms. Her leathery jaw frills soften into strands of dark hair and her eyes narrow as she settles comfortably down on the railing. 

Her arms cross over her chest and she taps a clawed finger against her bicep, clearly displeased. Her eyes fall on Yeonjun, who remains seated on the floor, peeling his veil away from the cut on his cheek. Yeji frowns and shifts her attention to Yeosang. "Imperial Prince, lock your curtains. The last thing we need are those guards of yours sticking their heads into our business. Her lips curl back and she snaps her teeth. "I've been on a no-bloodshed streak here, and I want to keep it that way for a little longer."

Her voice was calm, reasonable even, but her words immediately coerce Yeosang to turn into his quarters to grab a sealing talisman. He slips back onto the balcony and attached the talisman to the curtains before turning back to her. "...thank you," he finally says with a bow. "For helping me get Yeonjun back."

To his shock, when he glances down at Yeonjun, he finds him almost glaring at Yeji as he shakily scrambles to his feet. "You're being too rash!" Yeonjun rasps before breaking into a cough. "If you were unable to do it yourself, you should have never dragged Prince Yeosang with you," he winces and coughs again into his hand. Yeosang tenses when it comes away with spots of saliva and indigo. 

"Yeonjun, sit down," he states sharply, and when Yeonjun turns to stare at him, he meets his glittering eyes flatly. "That's an order." With reluctance, Yeonjun settles himself down on the floor of the balcony once more. Yeosang turns to face Yeji, who sits quietly, unfazed by Yeonjun's outburst. "I did what you wanted me to do. Now I presume you know that it's your turn to answer my questions."

"It's only fair," Yeji decides before Yeonjun can interject. An amused smirk creeps onto her lips as she hops off the railing. "If an Imperial-blooded elf has the audacity to pull the trigger on a mage in broad daylight, then he's at least worth a fraction of trust."

Yeosang can't quite stop the wry smile that pulls at the corners of his lips. He blinks owlishly and looks from Yeji to Yeonjun. "Tell me who you two really are, what you're doing here, and if you're telling the truth about your affiliation with the Liberation Core." 

Yeji exchanges a look with Yeonjun before holding up a gauntleted hand. "Yeonjun hasn't lied about his identity. He's still an Imperial Concubine. I'm a transportational wyvern. And both of us are actively part of the undercover faction of the Liberation Core's current generation." She nods. "Yes, we do still exist. And our goal…" her gaze hardens as her lips pull back to bare her teeth in a snarl. "Our goal is the complete eradication of the Elven Empire."

* * *

  
"Yunho." Vines branch from Hongjoong's arms to steady Yunho as he sways on his feet. Dazed silver eyes meet his, and Hongjoong's eyes narrow in thought. "How long ago did you find out this news?"

Yunho pushes away Hongjoong's vines and plants his weight on both feet with a shake of his head. "Too long. I had my services purchased for about an hour, and it took nearly another to escape the city. Seonghwa's clockworking gave us a head start into the forest, but I don't doubt that Hongseok and his troops left shortly after he was imbued." 

A chill runs down Seonghwa's spine at the ease wherewith Yunho spoke about such things, as though selling his body and being hunted down was just another cogwheel in the motions of life. His eyebrows knit, and without his realization, his fingers ball into a fist. 

When a weight rests on his shoulder, he glances back at Jongho, who eyes him silently. Jongho squeezes his shoulder and offers him a sardonic smirk as he lowers his hand. Seonghwa turns back to Hongjoong and Yunho. 

"Did you say Hongseok?" Hongjoong recalls, his eyes widening. "That elf...if he had nearly an hour of time ahead of you on windcutters then they could reach the river in mere minutes—"

“Oh. Oh _hell_ no.” Wooyoung whirls on them, eyes narrowing. “You guys need to run. Those bastards aren’t gonna sit around waiting for you to move.” He strides to the riverbank. “I’ll take care of them.” 

Seonghwa’s eyes widen. “Are you crazy? You against an entire troop of soldiers? If you fight, they’ll know you’re here, and I’m pretty sure we _don’t_ want them knowing any of us are here!” He takes a step towards Wooyoung as the fire extinguishes with a flick of his fingers. “Wooyoung, come on. Let’s all go.” 

Golden eyes fixate him in a glare as he takes another step and freezes. “Shut up and just get away from here before they come!” he hisses. His gaze slides over to Hongjoong. “Just go take the imbeciles and leave, Hongjoong,” he snaps. 

San drops down from his perch above the trees and flicks a marble into the air, a short burst of frigid wind accompanying the gesture and shocking them all into silence. He shakes his head rapidly. "I don't think we have time for that." He flinches, his skin losing more of its opacity as the air fills with a nearly inaudible gust of wind. San's arms naturally rise to cling to himself protective as he holds his marbles between the gaps of his fingers. 

"This is bad," Yunho gasps, his gaze whipping around the stirring foliage around them. 

"Godsdamnit! Did they already see us?" Wooyoung curses, his eyes flashing as he scans their surroundings. 

Seonghwa looks around in confusion as San hops onto the bough of an overhanging bough with narrowed eyes and a tight frown pinching his features together. Hongjoong crouches down on one knee and touches the grass, his shoulders squared, while Yunho sidles closer to Wooyoung. 

When a soft twang rises above the loudening whispers of wind through the leaves, Jongho suddenly whirls around, pressing back-to-back against Seonghwa with his arm outstretched and fist clenched. His lips pull back into a scowl as he lowers his arm. A wooden arrow fletched with stiff, white feathers falls from his grasp, hitting the grass with a muted thump. 

"One…two." Hongjoong mutters, as Wooyoung throws up a wall of controlled flames in front of himself and Yunho, incinerating the arrows that were fired towards them. Hongjoong glances up at San and holds up two fingers. 

Seonghwa lets out an undignified yelp as Hongjoong's vines knock a pair of arrows out of the air before they can pierce into him. He flinches and instinctively crouches down. 

San drops down from the bough and hovers above the river, his eyes raking over the surrounding greenery. He brandishes a marble, a thin strain of magic flowing from his fingertips into the greyish orb before he hurls it into the trees. The concentration of wind rips the branches off the trees and sends leaves whirling through the air as though a tempest had struck. A flock of birdlike creatures bursts from the destroyed foliage with infernal screeches that faded off like the toll of a massive bell. Surprised cries elicit from the trees around them, and San immediately targets the source of the noise with his other marble while catching the first in his free hand as it whips back. 

Seonghwa gasps and hops back as fire suddenly surrounds them, blocking their attackers from reaching them, but also trapping them in the spot. Wooyoung holds up a smoking hand and turns to scowl at Hongjoong. "Well? Now the entire forest is going to know we're here, so I hope you have smart ideas."

"There are only two of them," Hongjoong informs as the trees roar with the force of San's blows and somewhat panicked yells arise from behind their wall of fire. "But I highly doubt that they're Imperial Mages, or even elves."

"Great. Wonderful. Absolutely fantastic," Wooyoung drawls monotonously. "Now everyone wants to kill us. Oh, joy. I'm positively ecstatic." He winces when Hongjoong admonishes him with a flick of a vine against the back of his hand.

Seonghwa's eyes widen and his eyes dart back to the sky as San zips around the air, barely traceable with the naked eye. "If they're trying to kill us, then should we really be letting San fight them by himself?"

Wooyoung turns around to stare at him with disgruntlement clouding his slit-pupilled eyes. "Don't be an idiot. He's not fighting them, he's obviously just deterring them. And if they're stupid enough to use wooden arrows, they're no match for his magic, weak as it is."

"I'm sorry for not knowing the first thing about magic or about this world," Seonghwa retorts, irritation prickling at his skin. "You can't expect me to—"

San abruptly hurtles down from the sky, landing with a painful sounding thud on the grass between them and effectively cutting off their spat. Jongho's eyes widen and he rushes over to San, helping him to his feet and brushing the dirt off his welted, greyish skin. 

A dark shadow casts itself over them, and San glances up with a groan, his hand nursing the graze on his side as gaseous blood billows from between his fingers. Yunho tilts his head back and his eyes widen. "Maris' scimitar, is that an independent wyvern?" he gasps, his knees bending as his balance lowers defensively. "I don't see the Imperial sigil on it."

Cold terror floods Seonghwa's spine as he looks up to see the black, reptilian creature that blocked out the sky above the clearing as it dives towards them, jaws opening to reveal rows of serrated teeth surrounding a forked, purple tongue. His legs lose their strength at the sight of a creature that should have never existed out of fiction, but before his knees can meet the ground, Hongjoong catches him in a netting of flexible branches. 

Hongjoong's eyes widen. "Wait! Wooyoung, stand down!"

His voice rings above the tempestuous wind and raging fire. Wooyoung's lips part to argue, but an unreadable light creeps into his gaze and he tentatively draws back the flames. Hongjoong's wooden fingers encircle his brachial hair, lifting it off his neck to reveal a circular symbol etched into his skin, of intersected triangles surrounded by intricate crosshairs. He turns his back to the black reptile, displaying the sigil.

The wyvern stops short before coming to a landing beside the river, just outside the ring of scorched grass. Unease crawls down Seonghwa's spine as it stands upright, its horns nearly grazing the leafy canopy. It was already large enough to scrape the understorey of the forest whilst resting at ease, but reared up it was massive; naturally, Seonghwa was conditioned to feel wariness towards any creature that was big enough to crush him underfoot, although none that he had seen in real life were quite as colossal as this looming reptile. 

As another arrow flies towards them, the wyvern screeches and lunges forward with a tail, barely missing Seonghwa's head as it cleaves the arrow in two mid-flight. Seonghwa groans and slumps against the nearest individual, which just happened to be Wooyoung. The drake eyes him with irritation, but doesn't jerk away. 

Before Seonghwa's eyes, the towering wyvern shrinks in size, its body morphing until it takes on a more humanoid shape of a young man scattered with black scales and dressed loosely in black leather. Bizarre, glowing cyber-armour that seemed a little too similar to the armour of the Imperial Mages encases his abdomen and legs. Flowing blonde hair drapes past a pair of curled horns and frames a heart-shaped face surrounded with gleaming black scales. A pair of piercing green eyes scan the trees behind them. The young man cracks his armoured shoulder with a bionic hand before frowning behind them with distaste. 

"You've got to be kidding me, do they _look_ like Imperial Mages to you? When I told you to keep an eye on them, I _didn't_ mean shoot them on sight, gods _damnit_ , what do I do with you? I swear to Aritea you're blinder than a rockstell and they don't even have eyes." His lips fall into something that could almost be classified as a pout as he crosses his arms over his chest with displeasure.

Wooyoung's pupils contract as he growls. "Hey, instead of yelling at your invisible ragtag, why don't you explain who you are and what you're doing here." Curlicues of smoke rise from his fingertips as he raises a hand. "Because there is no way in the five hells that I'm letting you take me anywhere."

The wyvern finally turns to face them with a sigh. "Sorry about those idiots, they're trigger happy and I think Ryu just makes me put up with them so she can laugh at me." 

"You're not much better, you know!"

The lisping voice carries through the air too close for comfort. Seonghwa squeaks as a young man drops out of a nearby tree and hangs there, upside down, by a bronze, serpentine tail. His cheeks puff out much like a chipmunk's and he waves a hollow, silver rod at the wyvern. His slit-pupils contract indignantly. "It's not called being trigger happy, it's called survival instincts! Besides, I'm not the one that's scared of a talon trim."

"You don't even have talons, Jisung," the wyvern whines. 

"Maybe not, but I have these." Seonghwa's eyes widen as another young man with a head of blonde hair and blonde goat's legs to match kicks his hooves absently from where he sits on the same branch as the first. He too bore a hollow rod strapped across his back and a few shallow cuts lacing his torso. A reedy chuckle escapes his lips as he tilts his head in amusement.

The wyvern rubs his temples. "...I wasn't talking to you, Jisung. I was talking to Jisung. The one that has no legs. You know, I know you two are messing with me." His gaze drifts down to the serpentine man and his lip curls disdainfully. "You don't know what they feel like, you can't judge me."

"...sorry to interrupt your...altercation, but if you're quite done, you've injured one of us, and we're currently in a bit of a predicament with the Imperial Army," Hongjoong sighs. "If I may be so bold to ask, could you not draw attention to our location?"

The wyvern glances back at them. "Oh, those guys were after you?" He shrugs. "Well, no matter. I think I left them with enough casualties to slow them down for about a day." He grins toothily. "You all seemed like too much of a rabble to be affiliated with the Imperial Army."

"Do you know who we are?" Wooyoung snaps, and the wyvern just shrugs breezily. 

"None of my business if you're not a threat." He brushes a few strands of hair behind a pointed ear. "Although now that I know you have one of us with you, I guess it is my business."

"...Hyunjin, now might not really be the best time to get on strangers' nerves," the faun Jisung points out, gesturing to them with his rod. Upon closer inspection, Seonghwa catches sight of smaller holes bored into the silver, reminiscent of a flute. It trails over them before slowing to a stop on Yunho. "Doesn't he look familiar?" 

The naga Jisung's pupils dilate and he squints at them. A gasp elicits from his lips as he drops his flute and covers his mouth with one hand, pointing a scaled finger at Wooyoung. "Wait—you're—"

"—in dire need of a safe space to administer medical treatment, and preferably to rest," Hongjoong interjects sharply, sparing the serpentine man no room to speak further.

San pulls out of Jongho's grip and stands upright with a shake of his head. He brushes the blood off his side and wraps a scarf around his waist to staunch the bleeding. "I'm okay. It only grazed me, it's nothing." He draws on a sharp breath before nodding decisively. 

Hongjoong shakes his head and crosses his arms over his chest, eyeing the faun and the naga with displeasure. "Certainly not. The fact alone that their arrows were wood and not metal means that they must be poison-tipped." He glances down at the shallow wound that still billowed with wisps of blood. "We have to counteract it immediately, but first we need to travel to a more secure place." He meets Hyunjin's eyes. "Would you mind?"

Hyunjin's pout melts into an understanding frown. "I'll take you where you need to go." His eyes narrow and drift back to the Jisungs. "And I'm telling Ryu to take away your weapon privileges and have you transferred to inventory." He pauses, his bones jutting out as his body begins to morph. "...your aims aren't even that great," he adds as a petty afterthought.

"Oh yeah? Well yours is worse!" The naga Jisung retorts with a pout, dropping to the grass and slithering towards them. Seonghwa flinches away on instinct. He had never been fond of snakes in general, and this man's tail was repulsively long. He pointedly positions himself so that Jongho stood between him and the serpentine man. 

"...you don't have to look like that, he doesn't bite." 

Seonghwa yelps and jumps back as the faun Jisung stares at him amusedly. "At least most of the time he doesn't."

A low rumble from Hyunjin's throat and an impatient whack of his tails against the grass draw Seonghwa's attention away from the faun, and he jumps slightly as something pokes him in the ribs. He whirls around to find the goat-esque man grinning at him as he blatantly pokes him once more, goading him towards the wyvern. 

As piqued as Seonghwa was, there didn't seem to be any malicious intent surrounding any of the newcomers, if one could set aside the fact that their fateful meeting happened to be the result of an attempted ambush. There were more pressing matters that needed to be attended to, namely finding a safe place for Yunho to rest, and treating San's wounds. 

Hongjoong had already climbed his way onto Hyunjin's shoulder, the locks of his hair lengthening and fastening to Hyunjin's neck spines to steady himself as he helps Yunho and San find comfortable purchase on Hyunjin's back. For all of San's apathy regarding his injury, the alarmingly shallow rise and fall of his chest and the blood that seeped through his scarf worried Seonghwa. 

A hand around his wrist catches him by surprise and he squeaks gracelessly as Wooyoung half drags him up Hyunjin's back and sits him down roughly between two of the wyvern's back spines. He groans and reaches behind himself to rub his tailbone, glaring at Wooyoung's leather-clad back. "Couldn't you be a bit gentler?"

"Oh, bite my horn," Wooyoung grumbles, floating up above Hyunjin's back in a faint whirl of smoke. He glances back and offers a hand to Jongho, who grudgingly accepts it and hefts himself up behind Seonghwa. "You'd probably fall down and snap your own neck if you tried to mount a wyvern on your own." His lip curls. "You should be thanking me."

Seonghwa's lips press into a thin line. Fighting down the urge to retort, he rubs his upper arm with a furrowed brow. "You're in a worse mood than normal," he points out. "What's gotten into you?"

"What's gotten into me? What's gotten into _you?"_ Wooyoung snaps, whirling on him and grabbing him by the collar. "If it weren't for you, we wouldn't be in this situation right now!" he spits.

"Wooyoung, please!" Hongjoong calls back sharply as the naga Jisung slithers up Hyunjin's back and loosely wraps his bronze tail around the wyvern's neck. "Now isn't the time." He nods towards Yunho and San, both who appeared paler than they should have. Seonghwa was beginning to see the ridges of Hyunjin's scales through San's figure, although his cheeks appeared rather flushed and a darker shade of grey. Wooyoung clicks his tongue with annoyance and darts further up into the air.

Hyunjin rears up when the faun Jisung perches himself comfortably in the fork between his two tails, and bumps Wooyoung's side with his muzzle. Wooyoung side-eyes him with a gruff sigh and spirals out of his wingspan range as Hyunjin raises his wings and leaps into the air, stirring the boughs of the trees in his wake. Seonghwa glances down at the wrecked woods surrounding the clearing, his hands gripping onto Hyunjin's back spine until his knuckles turn white. He turns away as Hyunjin lurches upwards until he settles into a smooth glide. 

Seonghwa's head spins when he glances down again at the rapidly shrinking woods as the surrounding lands knit together in a cartographic quilt of riverlines, and patches of forest and plain. His hands tighten around Hyunjin's spike and he clings on for dear life, his heart thudding against his ribcage. While it was slightly suspicious that he wasn't feeling lightheaded from their altitude, he didn't want to risk his chances of losing balance and falling to his death. 

A touch on his blanched hands startle him to the present, and he flinches as the naga Jisung prods his fingers with his flute. The half-serpent's tail hooked over Hyunjin's shoulder to keep him steadied while he laid on his belly over the stretch of Hyunjin's back. He puffs out his cheeks and pokes Seonghwa's hands again. "Hey, you're gonna stop your bloodflow if you hold on that tightly." He grins, revealing a pair of fleshy extrusions in front of his teeth. "It's fine, you're not going to fall. Even if you did, this guy could catch you no problem." He smacks Hyunjin's back with a scaled hand. 

Seonghwa just stares blankly at him, and Jisung cocks an eyebrow. "Look, I know I'm not exactly a local, but don't look at me like that—it's like you've never seen a naga before." He shrugs. "Besides, I'm not interested. I'm not against interspecies or anything, but you're just not my type you know."

"Eh?" Startled by the abrupt subject, Seonghwa throws his hands up defensively, heat rising to his cheeks. "What—no! How did you even get that?" he splitters. 

A braying laugh behind him causes him to jump and he gapes as the faun Jisung gallavants across Hyunjin's scales with ease, coming to a rest seated on the naga Jisung's back. He taps Jisung's scaled shoulder with his flute and glances up at Seonghwa with his seemingly ever-present amused grin. "Staring intently at a naga is basically flirting," he informs.

"Flirting?!" Seonghwa feels the blood rush all the way to his ears and he covers them, flustered. "I didn't mean—" A hand on his shoulder and a breathy huff behind him stains his cheeks crimson. "...Damn it, Jongho, don't laugh at me," he mutters under his breath. 

The faun Jisung rises to his feet, somehow balancing perfectly despite the occasional lurch as Hyunjin dips lower in the air. "Oh, yeah. Naga have terrible eyesight. It's more convenient for them to rely more on their sense of smell and taste. So if a naga puts in the effort to actually see someone, that means they're interested."

"...so you're telling me that he was shooting arrows at us _practically blind?"_ Seonghwa gasps. 

The two Jisungs exchange a glance before shrugging in near-perfect synchronization. The faun settles himself between two of Hyunjin's back spines and crosses his arms against one of them with a nonchalant nod. "Yeah, basically."

"...has it never occurred to you that that's...I don't know...dangerous?"

Before either of the two can respond, Hyunjin banks sharply to his left, and Seonghwa grabs onto the spine as he lurches sideways. He glances down as Hyunjin swoops towards the lush ground of the mountain crater, barely grazing the brush with his talons as he flies towards the centre. He lands solidly on his two feet, bowing low to prevent any shock from travelling to his living cargo. Seonghwa's eyes widen as Hyunjin straightens up, easily towering over the deciduous vegetation that stood only a few feet above Seonghwa himself within the crater. 

Although Seonghwa could have sworn that it was at least early summer in the woodlands they had left, the spiralling trees that surrounded the curve of the crater from base to crest were painted in rich shades of red, orange, brown, and maroon. Plump little batlike creatures of the likes of which he had never seen before flutter through the boughs of the trees. They squeak like mice as they latch themselves onto the black bark of the trees to feast on the grubs within. A few of the creatures flutter around Hyunjin’s head with comically minuscule screeches, only to be batted away with one of his clawed hands. 

A shiver creeps down Seonghwa’s spine, and he first owes it to his unsettlement before goosebumps rise on his skin and he rubs his arms for heat. In his astonishment, he had completely disregarded the thin, frigid air. Despite the warm glow of their surroundings, the temperature was anything but congenial. 

Seonghwa glances up to meet Yunho’s pupilless eyes as the elf wraps a fine, white robe around his shoulders with a slight grin. “You look like you’re going to freeze to death,” he hums, not unkindly. “Keep this with you for now. We’ll be in a warmer place soon.” Despite its thin composition, it was strangely dense, and even warm. Seonghwa grips the hem of the robe and wraps himself in it, smiling gratefully at Yunho. 

“Thanks, but don’t you need it t—Yunho!”

The eyes of their companions flicker back to him as Yunho seems to lose his balance on Hyunjin’s back and slumps forward against him. Seonghwa’s brow furrows. “You’re burning up!” He glances up to Hongjoong, who had been deep in conversation with Hyunjin, and carefully shifts Yunho so that he wouldn’t fall. “Hongjoong, he needs to get somewhere he can rest now!” 

“...oh, don’t be so damn dramatic about everything.” 

Seonghwa tenses as Wooyoung hovers closer and grabs Yunho by the back of his collar, hefting him upright. Yunho tilts his head back from where he hangs in Wooyoung’s grip to stare at him through half-glazed eyes. Seonghwa’s brow furrows and he shoots upright to his feet, only to lose his balance and gracelessly slip down Hyunjin’s back with an undignified cry. He lands in a disorderly heap by Hyunjin’s tails, and groans, rubbing the back of his head. His eyes widen and he twists to stare up at Wooyoung. 

“You owe me for this one, princeling,” Wooyoung mutters, sliding Yunho’s arms over his shoulders from behind and gripping his legs to safely carry him off of the wyvern. 

“Well, isn’t he just full of sunshine and saffloriens, and all the warm fuzzies?” the naga Jisung hisses amusedly, prodding Seonghwa up onto his feet with an inscrutable glint behind his slit-pupilled eyes. 

“Don’t you know it,” Seonghwa groans. He glances behind Jisung, only for his eyes to blow wide once more when he catches sight of San being carried on the back of the faun Jisung, who appeared rather concerned with how his breaths came in short, erratic puffs of air that left delicate curlicues in the gelid air. He turns back to the naga. “Jisung, don’t you two carry any kind of antidote?” he asks. “He’s in pain!”

“That _is_ an effect of getting injured, isn’t it?” the faun calls back, a blithe lilt to his reedy voice.

Seonghwa’s brow knits, but before he can utter the retort on his tongue, the naga pokes him in the ribs with his flute, eliciting a flinch out of him. He glares at Jisung, only for the serpentine man to wave a noncommittal hand at him. “Hey, don’t worry. It’s not going to kill him. That poison’s probably just going to immobilize him for a day at best. It’s not our job to kill anyone.” 

“That doesn’t make things any better!” Seonghwa retaliates indignantly.

“Hey, Jisung, stop bullying the guest for one second won’t you? We have to get them into the chamber.” Hyunjin, once more in humanoid form, smacks the back of Jisung’s head lightly. 

“Hey, Hyunjin, stop putting yourself on a pedestal just because Ryujin let you lead _one_ patrol?” Jisung retorts, tripping Hyunjin with his flute. 

Seonghwa peers back at the faun Jisung. “Are they always like that?”

“More or less.” 

Seonghwa glances over his shoulder as Hongjoong wearily taps his arm. “Those two should be all right for a little longer,” he assures with a sigh. “San doesn’t need any antidote, but I will have to purge the remnants of poison out of his body, and Yunho…” he drifts off, his gaze clouding. “...he just needs rest,” he finishes before turning away from Seonghwa and walking striding ahead. 

There were many things that Seonghwa wanted to ask Hongjoong, and the longer he postponed voicing his curiosities, the more aggravating his behemoth of questions became. But as he stares at Hongjoong’s back as the dryad falls into step with Hyunjin, the faun Jisung in tow with San slumped over his back, and Wooyoung following a small distance above them with Yunho draped over him, Seonghwa convinces himself that it could wait a fraction longer. He turns to eye Jongho as the elf grips his upper arm reassuringly, and nods for him to follow them. A faint smile creeps onto Seonghwa’s features. “Thanks,” he expresses simply. Jongho only offers him a dry look and a vaguely amused curve at the corners of his lips.

As he follows them, a tap on his shoulder prompts him to look to his other side, where he finds the naga Jisung slithering over the dense, earthen ground, leaving a faint, slinking depression in his wake. Jisung glances back at him for a moment, and his lips curl back. His mouth opens wide, as though to yawn, and Seonghwa tenses as a pair of translucent fangs extrude from the fleshy protrusions at his gums. Jisung’s pupils contract and he turns his back to Seonghwa and Jongho. 

“...I don’t know if the others noticed yet, but you’re not what you’re pretending to be, are you?” Jisung murmurs, his voice carrying through the air and snaking into Seonghwa’s ears. Seonghwa tenses and whips around to stare at the naga’s back. Jisung casts him a glance over his shoulder. “You’re no elf. You don’t reek of corrupted electricity and stolen magic.” 

Seonghwa tenses, his eyes flickering over to Jongho, who merely treads alongside him without a care in the world as though he hadn’t heard a word that Jisung had spoken. Seonghwa’s turns to eye Jisung warily, but the naga doesn’t spare him another glance. The sibilant voice carries its way to his ears again. “...you don’t smell like a threat either, so I won’t say anything, but don’t think that you can get away with whatever you want.”

Seonghwa instinctively sidles a fraction closer to Jongho, lips pressing into a thin line. He pulls the robe Yunho had given him closer around his shoulders as though it would shield him from the naga's scrutiny. 

Within minutes, the trees packing the concavity thin into long roots that clambered the walls of the crater, threading with bulbous, papery masses that vaguely reminded Seonghwa of wasp nests, but gargantuan. He frowns as their party carries on without hesitation, and he pokes Jongho's arm, jerking his thumb towards the distended mass. "...are those... safe?"

Jongho peers at the mass before nodding and giving himself wide berth from them. Seonghwa quickly follows him. "...you know that isn't very reassuring, right?" Jongho smirks at him and shrugs. 

"Oh, those are sprite eyries." Seonghwa watches as the faun Jisung trots over to one of the nests, tracing the furrows with a finger and glancing back at him with an amused glimmer in his eyes. "It's pretty hard to believe you've never seen one before. The mountain sprites are nocturnal, though, so being quiet is a good idea." He grins and gallops ahead to catch up to the naga Jisung to relieve him of his San-shaped burden. 

"What kind of creatures are sprites?" Seonghwa wonders aloud to himself, instinctively drawing closer to the nest. Jongho quickly snaps his fingers around Seonghwa's wrist and pulls him back with a shake of his head. 

They come to a stop before a cliff face, a sharp drop from a particularly steep crest of the crater. Seonghwa's eyes narrow at the shadowed peak that towered into the sky, cutting a nearly black silhouette against the soft blue. He watches as Hyunjin pads towards the cliff face and Seonghwa's eyes widen as the circular sigil appears through his leather shirt, glowing brightly against his shoulder blade. 

Almost immediately, the sigil etched onto the back of Hongjoong's neck shines through the strands of his brown hair. The same symbol glints on the naga Jisung's bicep and the faun Jisung's flank. Seonghwa doesn't have time to wonder just what exactly the sigil was as it draws itself in dazzling white against the face of the cliff, showering them with a hail of fractional pebbles and fine silt. Seonghwa beats the dust off his robe with a frown. 

Hyunjin glances back at them and waves them over. "Come on," he calls. 

"To where?" Seonghwa can't help but ask. For all its flashiness, he didn't see the grand opening of a secret entryway or the cliff dramatically cleaving itself into two like a movie. After everything he had seen and experienced, he didn't want to put anything past this world.

Hyunjin grins and jerks a thumb at his feet. "Down there."

Seonghwa glances down, to the base of the cliff and finds a small fissure between the gristly roots, loose earth, and cracked stone, barely wide enough for him to fit his fingertips. He stares at it blankly before turning to look at Hyunjin. "...you're kidding."

"Nah. This is the entrance," the naga Jisung chirps, slithering between them and coiling up by the cliff face. He raises the tip of his serpentine tail and jams it firmly into the fracture. With a hefty jerk that sends a lithe ripple of muscle movement up his tail, he forcefully wedges the earth apart, and Seonghwa's eyes bug out for the umpteenth time that day as the leverage drives the crack up the cliff, tearing apart the roots that obscured a deep fissure. Seonghwa gapes at the rift that Jisung had seemingly created before Hyunjin pats him on the back with a chuckle. 

"He's not actually that strong. The volcano's fissure only opens for us. If anyone else tried to do it, the cliff wouldn't budge.

"Wait a minute—did you just say vol—" his words cut off with a cry of surprise as a bronze tail wraps around his wrist and drags him into the narrow fissure. 

Darkness envelops him as Jisung pulls him through the narrow corridor. Both walls of the split cliff graze his side's as he stumbles along, having no choice at this point but to blindly follow a supposedly blind naga through the rock. "Are you sure you know where you're going?" He calls. His voice ricochets off the walls and soars above him into the barely visible sky.

"Who do you think I am? Of course I know," Jisung insists, slowing to an abrupt stop. Seonghwa nearly trips over his tail and ends up sprawled against his back. Jisung suddenly ducks down, grabbing Seonghwa's shoulder and dragging him along just as a plume of fire supersedes them, blazing down the corridor and raising the flames of long, metal sconces that lined the walls just above their heads. 

Seonghwa glances back to find Wooyoung with a heavily breathing Yunho on his back, a wisp of coal-black smoke dancing around his claws, and a grimace contorting his face. He kicks a stray pebble at them. "What in the five hells do you two think you're doing?"

"Oh, just taking advantage of the lovely ambiance! It's not everyday you can drag a whole lot of important people into the chamber of Ell'yrin." Jisung grins at Wooyoung's disgruntled scowl. 

"...Ell'yrin…?" Yunho lifts his head from Wooyoung's shoulder to stare past Jisung and down the dark corridor. "This—we're _in_ Ell'yrin?" He gasps. 

Wooyoung's scowl deepens and he clicks his tongue with annoyance. "So what if we're in Ell'yrin? Mountains are mountains. We could be in Ell'hatra and it'd make no difference. Now shut up before you pass out and the old tree gets on my case for it."

"I can hear you, Wooyoung," Hongjoong sighs from behind them as the faun Jisung stifles a chuckle.

"Ell'yrin," Yunho mutters under his breath as he slumps against Wooyoung tiredly. 

Jisung blinks owlishly before guiding them farther down. "Ell'yrin is the name of this volcano," he tells Seonghwa. "It's been extinct for a few millennia, so we've made the magma chamber our sanctuary. As he speaks, the corridor begins to widen, and the stagnant air begins to flow, tickling the flaming rods that light their path. "Not even the Imperial family knows that we convene here."

Seonghwa raises an eyebrow. "Then should you really be telling me?" He asks. 

Jisung glances back at him, his fangs sliding over his bottom lip as he grins. "Well, two can keep a secret if one is dead," he points out with a sibilant laugh. “Your company is practically crippled, and you don’t feel like a threat.”

“Can’t I go anywhere without someone threatening to murder me?” Seonghwa wonders aloud, casting a pointed glance at Wooyoung, who blatantly ignores him. He catches himself before his lips curl into a minuscule grin of amusement at the lack of response.

For how long they wander around with only the sconces to light the dense air, Seonghwa isn't quite sure. The sky had long since disappeared from view altogether, and while the passages no longer scraped his arms, they had certainly multiplied in number; there didn't seem to be an end to them. Oddly enough, a mellow breeze wafts through the underground tunnels, although Seonghwa was quite sure that they were far removed from any circulation of fresh air. He squints at the dimly lit corridors, wondering just how anyone could find their way in this place. Perhaps it was a tactical choice; Seonghwa couldn't imagine that a stranger would ever safely navigate the area if they somehow managed to breach the cliff face. 

He glances back to Wooyoung and frowns at the sight of Yunho's pink skin; unusually matte, and faintly purplish with the blood that had risen to the surface. His gaze drifts over to the faun Jisung and he winces at the stiffness of San's limbs. It appeared that they hadn't lied about immobilization. He turns to look at Hyunjin with a frown. "How much longer?" He asks. 

"Not much," Hongjoong responds before Hyunjin can speak. “The walls have become lively.” 

Seonghwa doesn’t have the opportunity to ask Hongjoong just what he meant, as their path abruptly hits a dead end before an unassuming wall of rugged stone. Hongjoong pads ahead of them and raises a hand, tracing the asymmetrical cleavages in the rock. The sigil chiselled against his nape shines through the locks of his hair as his hand settles on a slight protrusion in the stone. The rock face whines as Hongjoong pushes it to the side, and Seonghwa’s lips part in astonishment. 

Hongjoong beckons them to enter into the massive cavern that almost seems like a city in its own right, centred around a crystalline body of water supplied by a whispering cascade that flowed over the dark stone from an unknown source. Glowing pipes run along the walls of the cavern, shining with cyber lines in various colours and connecting to the dome-shaped, metallic shelters erected around the lake. Despite the enclosed nature of the cavern, the air moved freely and flora teemed against the walls, creeping over the pipes and painting the silvery sanctuary with spatterings of green. An airship hovers close to the stalactites that drip from the cave ceiling, and from its keel hangs a few glowing rods that seem to provide light to the area. 

Numerous creatures, some of which Seonghwa could recognize, others which he didn’t, wander about the cavern, barely sparing them a glance. Wyverns frolicked about in the water, both in humanoid and reptilian form. An undine bursts from the bank of the lake, sending a wave of water crashing over the flat outcrop, and then ducks as a sylph careens past his head to splash headfirst into the water. A pair of humanlike creatures in the nude sit on a crag over the lake with something that looked suspiciously like skin beside them, and Seonghwa quickly averts his eyes. He smiles as a few feathered children run across the rock, wings flapping as they bumble through the lakeside, half on the ground and half in the air. Some appeared completely organic while others possessed prosthetic limbs of magical cybertechnology that fused against their biotic bodies in an unsettlingly perfect manner. 

“...are we really underground?” he can’t help but ask. 

Bleating laughter from the faun Jisung answers him, and he quickly sidles away before the faun can poke him with his flute once again. “Not too shabby, right?” He gestures to their surroundings with a graceful flourish of his flute. “Welcome to the chamber of Ell’yrin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was only halfway through this chapter that I realized putting Han Jisung and Park Jisung in a duo was probably a mistake.  
> After not writing for so long, it was wonderful to get back to this fic, I truly did miss it! I can't wait to continue writing. I've been trying to pull my life into order so that I don't disappear for a long time again. I do hope you'll all bear with me, and I'd like to apologize one more time for taking so long to make this update ^.^;;  
> Thank you all so much for staying with me and taking the time out of your day to read, and I hope you enjoyed <3  
> I'll see you all again in the next chapter~


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, lovely readers, and welcome back~  
> Firstly I'd like to thank everyone who left kudos on this fic, as always I'm ever grateful for the support and love that you've shown <3  
> Secondly, because of other schedules my updates were meant to be slowed, but I decided to upload today as a birthday gift for myself, and as a gift for all of you! I do hope you enjoy  
> Without further ado, let's get to the chapter~

“Is that Hyunjin I see? You’re late, y'know!”

Seonghwa tilts his head up, searching for the source of the amused whoop, only to find a young woman falling from the airship by a grappling wire and landing neatly on the ground with a gleeful grin plastered onto her features. He blinks owlishly at the device that hooked onto her pointed ear and formed a holographic lens in front of her pupilless eye, much like he had seen from the elf soldiers. Her curled horns were encased in some kind of cyber armour, a wiry prosthetic limb replaced her left arm up to her shoulder, glimmering with remnants of magic, and a flexible, metallic jawbone took the place of her mandible. If it weren't for her awfully pointed teeth, the horns, and the smattering of lavender scales on the fleshy areas of her pale purple face, Seonghwa would have assumed she was an elf. A roguish twinkle enters her gaze as she spares them a glance. “Well well, look what the 'rachna dragged in!” 

She darts past them to grab Hyunjin by the back of the neck and drag him down, roughly mussing his hair with a highly amused glimmer in her yellow eyes. “Ya took your sweet time, didn’tcha. The other patrols were back nearly an hour ago.” She releases him and plants her hands on her hips with a smirk. “'ow was your company?” 

“Ryu, _please_ ,” Hyunjin whines, straightening out his hair. “I’ve already had a bad day, and you give me that whole carnival to patrol with?” He jerks his thumb towards the two Jisungs who whistle nonchalantly and traipse off to entertain a pair of three-eyed wolves. Hyunjin pouts and crosses his arms over his chest. “There were Imperial Mages, but I threw them off for a while, and now we have a new bunch to take in.” He gestures towards Hongjoong, and Seonghwa just stares, lips parted in astonishment, as the woman scrutinizes them. 

She blinks, her lens whirring with data as she looks over them. Her eyes widen as they fall on Yunho and San, and she snaps her fingers, pointing to a curtain of moss by the waterfall and beckoning them to come. “Hyunjin, take the sick an’ the injured t’ the infirmary,” she orders. He nods and morphs back into his wyvern form, gathering San and Yunho on his shoulders before leaping into the air towards a smaller cave excavated from the cleft nearby the waterfall.

Casting a glance over her shoulder, she waves a hand for the Jisungs' attention. "Oi, Jisung—no, not you, the faun—go clear off two beds for these 'ere. 'ongjoong, you've got plenty of explainin' t' do, but I'll let ya go off and help those two first." Jisung nods and tosses his flute to the naga before bounding along the stratified walls to the cave. Hongjoong hesitates, eyeing Wooyoung, Seonghwa, and Jongho over his shoulder. 

Seonghwa offers him a slightly lopsided smile of reassurance. "Go on, Yunho and San need your help." He ducks his head ever so slightly, making the conscious effort to ignore Ryujin's pupilless gaze boring into the back of his head. "...we'll be fine." Seonghwa could almost feel offended by the conflicted look in Hongjoong's eyes, but logically he had every right to be concerned about leaving them alone. Seonghwa nods towards the cave where Hyunjin and the faun Jisung had withdrawn. Hongjoong nods and leaves them. 

Beside Seonghwa, Wooyoung scuffs an antsy heel against the rock floor, his narrowed gaze darting around the expanse as he fidgets restlessly. Jongho, on the other hand, seemed perfectly unperturbed although Seonghwa had his suspicions that there weren't too many things that could perturb Jongho to begin with. He himself had given up on trying to make sense of anything that he was witnessing—there were more pressing matters to be concerned with, and his sanity could be pushed aside for the time being. 

"As for you three, I'd be greatly obliged t' show ya where y'can stay for the time bein'." Ryujin raises her bionic elbow with an amicable grin. "My name's Ryujin, by the way. But feel free t' call me Ryu."

Seonghwa turns to meet Ryujin's pupilless eyes and catches himself before he can bow on instinct. He stares at her arm in puzzlement, but she makes no move to lower it. Tentatively, he raises his arm and taps his elbow against hers. Her smile brightens and she lowers her arm. Seonghwa's shoulders slump with relief. The last thing he wanted was to wrap himself in another misunderstanding like he had with the naga Jisung. A polite smile curls onto his lips. "I'm Seonghwa. And this is Jongho, and that's Wooyoung. And that'd be nice—thank you."

She chuckles. "Good t' see good manners still exists." She whirls around and pads towards one of the metal domes, gesturing for them to follow. "Come on, then. The sooner we get ya settled in, the sooner we can figure out just what exactly is goin' on 'ere."

Seonghwa and Jongho follow, but Wooyoung remains rooted to the spot. Seonghwa glances back at him. "Aren't you coming?"

Wooyoung's gaze darkens as he fiddles uncomfortably with his rings, his lips curling back the longer he takes in his surroundings. Seonghwa frowns and stops in his tracks before padding back to Wooyoung. "Hey, are you okay?"

The familiar irritated gleam contorts Wooyoung's features as his eyes come into focus on Seonghwa. He clicks his tongue and strides ahead. "Just peachy," he mutters brusquely. Seonghwa breathes out a sigh and hurries after him, catching up to Jongho and Ryujin. 

Ryujin approaches one of the domes and touches the scanner on the door with her hand. A holographic screen flickers into existence before the door, and she navigates through a few windows before stepping back. She gestures for them to come over. "Just let it scan your 'and t' record your magic signature. That way you'll be able ta enter and exit the shelter freely as ya please."

"...you want me to just put my signature in your misbegotten archives just like that?" Wooyoung growls, his jaw frills bristling. 

The smile disappears from her lips and she turns to eye Wooyoung up and down. A column of incomprehensible lettering scrolls down her holographic lens and she shakes her head. "Feel free t' camp out by the lake if y'really want," she responds calmly. "We don't archive any signatures. They're only used for security and privacy, but whether y'decide t' make use of 'em is completely arbitrary."

Wooyoung crosses his arms over his chest and breathes out a frustrated sigh. Before Seonghwa can apologize on his behalf, Jongho pads forward and hovers his hand over the screen. A blue line traces over the appendage and an affirmation flickers over the screen. He glances back at Wooyoung and raises an eyebrow. 

The drake grimaces and shakes his head. "Yeah, you can leave your tracks in stone if you want. I'm not risking that," he mutters. 

Ryujin shrugs. "Suit y'self." She rests a bionic hand on her hip and turns her attention to Seonghwa. "What about you?"

"Hold on a second."

Seonghwa doesn't have the chance to so much as lift his hand before Wooyoung interjects. He glances over at him, bemused. "Yes…?"

Wooyoung frowns, mulling over his words in silence, and Seonghwa cocks an eyebrow, biting back the visceral urge to make a comment about how thinking before speaking was a facet of Wooyoung that he didn't see often. His lips twitch with the urge to smile, but he fights it down. 

Wooyoung rolls his eyes. "Shut up, you're thinking too loud."

"Oh, really?" Seonghwa can't help but quip, finally grinning as Wooyoung's jaw frills stand on end with irritation. 

"Shut up," Wooyoung snaps again before taking his fingers through his blonde hair and turning to stare at Ryujin. "I don't know if this whole thing will work with him. We just recently found out that he doesn't have a magical signature."

She blinks owlishly before her lips part in understanding. "Ah, an aberrant?"

Seonghwa looks from one to the other and raises his hand with a frown. At any other time, he would have gladly concurred with Wooyoung. He should have had no trace of magic in him—magic shouldn't have existed to begin with. But it did exist; it permeated Scoiltgleann and dwelt within the students of Greenwich. It danced between the thinning of the transdimensional fault line and suffused nearly every aspect of this strange world. And if Seonghwa discarded the option of being completely and utterly insane, that left him with one other possibility: the possibility that somewhere within him there really was some kind of magic. 

He chuckles wryly to himself, flexing his fingers absently. Surely he must be going mad for accepting something so utterly ridiculous. At best this had to be some kind of fever dream. Perhaps he should have taken more time to indulge in sleep.

A tap on his shoulder draws his attention to Jongho, who eyes him through calculating, violet eyes. The elf grabs his upper arm and nods towards the screen. Seonghwa's brow furrows. "You want me to…?"

"I'm telling you, there's no point," Wooyoung insists curtly. Jongho flashes him a skeptical look and nods towards the screen once more before meeting Seonghwa's eyes. 

After a moment's hesitation, Seonghwa shrugs. "There's no harm in trying," he decides, uncertainty colouring his voice. "...even if it doesn't work." He glances at Ryujin for permission, and she backs away for him. He reaches out and tentatively hovers his hand over the screen, mimicking Jongho's actions from before. He waits with bated breath as the line crosses his hand. It felt slightly cold to the touch although Seonghwa could tell that a fiery energy flowed through it. He receives no affirmation on the screen, and for whatever reason, a faint pulse of disappointment courses through his skin. 

He lowers his hand and Wooyoung sighs roughly, crossing his arms over his chest. "See?"

"Ah well, no 'arm done," Ryujin chirps. "Since Jongho 'ere 'as 'is signature registered with the shelter, 'e can allow ya to come in an' go out if 'e wants." She pats Jongho's shoulder with a grin. "So bein' nice ta 'im is recommended."

Wooyoung snorts. "You do not want to give him that kind of power."

"You're one to talk," Seonghwa retorts playfully, earning himself a roll of Wooyoung's eyes. 

"Aren'tcha just the damnedest o' friends?" Ryujin remarks with an amused grin as she shuts off the screen and opens the domed shelter, stepping aside for them to enter. 

Wooyoung mock-gags as he pads inside. "May Havilah fall out of the sky and the hell realm rise before _that_ ever happens."

Seonghwa bites back the urge to chuckle under his breath and instead keeps his lips pressed tight together to hide his mirth. He pads into the dome, closely followed by Jongho. Ryujin strides in after them and closes the doors behind her. 

Much to Seonghwa's surprise, the dome seemed much larger on the inside than the outside, and seemed to contain most amenities, from mattresses that folded into the walls, an area that could be used as a bathroom. Ryujin gestures to a line of buttons on the steel wall. "These adjust temperature an' 'umidity to your likin'. And if you all 'ave different preferences…" she presses the last button and a 3d diagram of the dome bursts into existence. She spins the diagram and taps off a few sections. "It's zone adjustable." She presses the button once more and it disappears. 

"Food storage is 'ere," she announces, tapping a slat on the wall and sliding it open to reveal a compartment behind. The familiar stiff coldness that was reminiscent of a fridge breathes on Seonghwa's skin. He blinks and eyes the storage space curiously. Ryujin closes it. "For the time bein', until we've properly assessed your condition an' intent, y'won't 'ave any duties, but if you'll be stayin', y'best know you'll 'ave t' pull your weight."

She turns to face them with a sharp-toothed grin. "That's about it—prolly more 'umble than you're used to, but it's what we 'ave."

Seonghwa shakes his head. He was already aware that the technologies of this world not only rivalled, but exceeded that of Earth, and he was well aware that being able to habit such a spacious area, albeit temporarily, was very much a blessing. "It's more than enough, thank you," he expresses gratefully. "And if you want to put us to work, that's fine," he adds, flagrantly ignoring Wooyoung's protests behind him. "It's not right that we should get to stay here practically for free."

"Oh, aren'tcha a cute one," Ryujin chuckles before the mirth fades off her features. Her glowing lens projects a few screens in front of her. "It isn't for ya, Seonghwa. You're all strangers in Liberation Core territory. It's for us." She moves the screens around, her eyes narrowing. Separating one screen from the rest, she gestures to Jongho. "I know ya. You're the interspecies adherent from the temple, an' anyone'd be wary of the adherents of Maris. 'ypocritical, backstabbin' lot, those adherents—y'never know which ones y'can trust." As she rattles on, Jongho's image writes itself on the glowing screen alongside a succinct profile written in a language Seonghwa couldn't read.

Ryujin's eyes fall on him. "As for you, I 'ave nothin'. I can't say I've ever seen or heard anythin' about'cha before. But there must be somethin' notable if 'ongjoong of all people brought ya 'ere." Seonghwa's lips part with a protest, but the words die on his tongue as she looks away from him.

Her pupilless gaze narrows as it lands on Wooyoung. "An' you…" she takes a step forward, and to Seonghwa's surprise, Wooyoung retreats a step back, bristling as his pupils contract with discomfiture. His lips part and a forked black tongue darts past them as a defensive hiss elicits from his throat. Ryujin looks him up and down once again before breathing out an almost incredulous laugh and pulling up a second screen, this time with Wooyoung's face marking it. 

Seonghwa blinks owlishly. While the image on the screen was indubitably Wooyoung, he looked much younger in it, with the cheek fat of childhood and an almost happy gleam in his eyes. His hair was shorter as well, and a plain, golden band encircled his head. Wooyoung's eyes widen and his shoulders tense as he catches sight of the screen. His jaw tightens, but Ryujin doesn't seem to notice as she scrolls through it. "That ol' leafy recluse's gone absolutely mad, bringin' not only an adherent an' the Concubine Prince 'imself to Ell'yrin, but Queen Protasia's son too!"

Ryujin leaps back, barely avoiding being horribly scratched as Wooyoung lunges towards her with a growl, his clawed hands tearing through the screen and glitching it out of existence. He bows his head, scaled lips pulling back to reveal bared teeth. Raising his head, he eyes her with aggravation burning over his contorted features. He raises his hand once more, smoke spiralling around his fingers as a frantic plume of blue flames coalesces into being above his skin. "You keep my mother's name out of your damn mouth, elfling!" He snarls.

* * *

"I almost didn't recognize you—you were all practically wyvernets the last time I saw you," Hongjoong remarks accepting a few swatches of gauze from Hyunjin to mop away the transparent pus secreted from the tender, flushed wound on San's ribs. His free hand concentrates a mellow layer of orange magic that hovers over San's wound, pulling towards it a murky, purplish miasma. Beneath him, San twitches, the veins at his neck and arms jutting out from under his pale skin. 

Hyunjin grins slightly. "Next thing I know, you'll be gushing over how big we've grown...there's a reason why Ryu always calls you old, you know." he waves the faun Jisung into the infirmary and nods towards the blankets in the far corner before gesturing to a shivering Yunho. Jisung nods and trots his way to fetch the blankets to cover the elf. 

Lit by glass orbs of magic essence and shielded from the rest of the cavern by plaited growths of glimmering, emerald moss that shimmered faintly like velvet, the infirmary was surprisingly quiet despite its close proximity with the waterfall. Hongjoong could feel the energy practically discharging from the cave walls themselves. It had been a while since he had felt such a pervasive concentration of magic energy in any one place; it left him rejuvenated. 

He glances up at San and nods at Hyunjin, who dabs at the beads of sweat that coalesce on the sylph's forehead. "I'll have you know I'm still pretty young for a dryad," Hongjoong retorts wryly. 

"Whatever makes you feel better," Hyunjin teases, dodging the vine that flicks out towards him. His gaze falls down on San and the mirth fades from his eyes. His lips curve into a frown as he surveys the pale scars that lace San's slightly too thin figure. "Hongjoong, he's…" 

"A slave? Yes, yes he is." Hongjoong raises his hand, eyeing the brown colour that had seeped into the orange essence. He grabs an empty vial and squeezes the poison into it before hovering his hand over San's wound once more. "I'm impressed that a single graze was able to paralyze a sylph so easily," he remarks offhandedly. 

"Well if sylphs are moving faster than their metabolisms, then of course it'd get around his system faster," Jisung points out, clopping his way to them. He offers Hongjoong a sheepish smile. "...although if we'd known you weren't threats, we wouldn't have shot him…"

Hyunjin groans. "Jisung, that is a _horrible_ apology. I hope you know that."

"Jisung shot the arrow that hit the mark, not me," the faun dismisses breezily. "So it's technically not my fault."

Hongjoong's eyebrows ride up on his forehead, but he doesn't dignify the faun's words with a response. He shakes his head. "If only I could get them back to Greenwich…" he mutters under his breath. His eyes catch the movements of San's fingers and he raises his hand, strengthening the suction between his hand and San's wound. 

"Oh, these were Greenwich's latest?" Hyunjin pipes up from where he lays a damp cloth on Yunho's forehead. "That's right, after that little show that the Imperial Crown Prince put on, you didn't have much choice, right?"

Hongjoong shakes his head. "Yeosang's sense of justice is unreasonable. But…" his eyes drift from San to Yunho, and then back as he squeezes the adulterated blood into the vial. "Perhaps it was his unreasonable sense of justice that saved their lives." A slight tug pulls up the corners of Hongjoong's wooden lips in a mirthless smile. "Maybe I have become complacent."

"No one would blame you," Hyunjin concurs sympathetically. "...you _are_ the only surviving member of the first generation Liberation Core." 

"Now _that_ is old," Jisung pipes in. He shrugs when they turn to stare blankly at him. "I'm just saying I would've never thought." He tilts his head. "You're a bit famous among the Liberation Core's members, you know. Everyone knows your name, but only a few people have seen you since you've been glued to the Imperial Princes since they were born." 

Hongjoong firmly taps the tendon under San's knee, relaxing when his leg jerks from the stimulus. He corks the vial and tosses it to Jisung, who reflexively catches it in a hand. "You should regain full mobility in an hour or two, but until then don't move recklessly, understood?" 

Although San doesn't say anything in response, Hongjoong nods. He whirls around to pad towards Yunho, casting Jisung a dry glance in his wake. "I was in the good graces of the Imperial family. That's why I was appointed their tutor and governor." He removes the cloth from Yunho's forehead and feels for his temperature. A thin branch protrudes from his arm and Hongjoong plucks the translucent leaf from it, touching the plant to Yunho's pale lips. "Their first son born an anomaly, and their second born an aberrant: it would be difficult to not pity them."

Hyunjin growls, the sound rumbling from the back of his throat. "How much more depraved can a species be?" He crosses his scaled arms over his chest, his eyes narrowed. "Even their own Imperial Prince was dragged down to those warhouses of theirs to be a concubine—"

Hongjoong spares him a sharp glance as he draws the blankets over Yunho's shoulders. "You don't have to wonder. Look what they did to your fellow nestling. I still remember bringing Ryujin to Ell'yrin. Even your dam and sire doubted she would survive." Hyunjin's jaw tightens, his green eyes blazing as he bores holes into the back of Hongjoong's head. At the diffusion of his unease through the infirmary, Hongjoong's eyes soften. "You're all younger than I am, so you know what you're fighting for, Hyunjin."

"And so do y—"

A vine snakes out to touch Hyunjin's lips, silencing him. Hongjoong glances over at them with a finger raised to his lips. "We're in an infirmary," he scolds. "Do not raise your voice." He retracts the vine and washes his hands under a small basin of running water, redirected from the waterfall. "I've seen many people die, and I'll live to see many more die. It becomes something trivial. Tiring. Sometimes you stop seeing the reason in striving and struggling."

"...and that's why you're old," Jisung pipes up. 

Hyunjin glares at the faun from the corner of his eye and elbows him in the ribs. "Now's not the time, Jisung!"

The faun shakes his head, and rubs his bruised side with a shrug. "Hey, hear me out before assuming I'm just another disrespectful, wet-behind-the-ears kid," he huffs. "I'm just saying that his age makes him cold." He rests a hand on his haunch and raises an eyebrow. "If you're not going to take responsibility for what you used to fight for, then we'll just find something to reawaken it for you. We all respect you, but what are we supposed to do if you don't respect yourself?" He taps a hoof against the stone floor. "There's a reason why the Liberation Core still exists, and if you can't see it any longer, maybe you should have died with the first generation."

Without another word, Jisung trots out of the infirmary and leaps down from the crag to the lakeside below. Hyunjin frowns. "I am really _really_ sorry about him—"

"No," Hongjoong interjects. He offers Hyunjin a wry smile. "Perhaps he makes a good point."

Before Hyunjin has the chance to respond, a vehement clamour outside draws their attention. They exchange a look and hurry to the moss curtain, pulling aside the jewellike strands to peer outside. 

"I'm tellin' ya, y'need t' 'ear me out before y' try t' rearrange my face!" Ryujin yelps, throwing up a cyber shield and dodging out of the way once more as a set of coal-black claws rip through it as though it were paper. A plume of searing flame blazes past her metallic shoulder and shears through the air above the lake. A pair of eel-tailed people leap out of the way and duck beneath the water to avoid being incinerated. 

"And I'm telling you that I don't want to hear her name come out of your godsdamned mouth again!" Wooyoung hisses, lunging towards her once again.

"What in Aritea's name is he doing?" Hyunjin gasps, his bones distending as he prepares to intervene. A hand on his shoulder stops him in his tracks and he eyes Hongjoong uncertainly. 

With a weary sigh, Hongjoong reaches an arm out, and the rock face itself cracks under his watchful eye. A gnarled, beam of blackened wood erupts from the crack, branching out into multiple limbs and twining around Wooyoung's arms and legs, abruptly halting his movements. The drake snarls and turns his flames onto the plant, only for clouds of greenish smoke to puff out from the damp wood into the surrounding air. He coughs and thrashes in his restraints, but Hongjoong tightens his grip. 

"What in the five h—" Wooyoung rakes the cavern, his furious eyes finding Hongjoong's. "You! Let me go—!" he growls, his jaw falling open Hongjoong's eyes narrow and the ground before him erupts into a thickly woven wall of vine and earth just as the flames rise from Wooyoung's throat and arch aggressively towards him and Hyunjin in a searing column of white heat. 

"He's going to upset the balance of the magic transmitters if he keeps that up!" Hyunjin snaps, his face already half morphed into a reptilian likeness. "Gag him before he brings the mountain down on us!"

Hongjoong's eyes narrow. "No, don't incite him. You stay right here, and make sure to keep the infirmary out of harm's way." He meets Hyunjin's eyes as the wyvern reluctantly regains his humanoid appearance with a nod. 

"All right, but find some way to stop him. I brought him here because I thought he'd behave himself."

Hongjoong chuckles. "Since when did the drakes ever act like everyone else?" He counters, slipping his way down the narrow stratification of the cavern face on his way down to the lakeshore. It made sense that no one wanted to engage with Wooyoung in a fight—this area was a shelter, and not a place suited for battle. Any wrong movement could bury them with ease. 

_"Tell me what you did to her!"_ Wooyoung roars, forked tongue flicking past his lips as he bares his teeth at Ryujin, thrashing against his wooden restraints. Hongjoong winces as a particularly searing burst of flame engulfs the lake face with murky, green smoke, and a few of the creatures break into coughs, retreating to their domes or under the water to avoid breathing in the fumes. A handful of sylphs zip around the cavern in attempts to purify the polluted air, only to retreat into hiding as another raging column of fire towers into the air, nearly grazing the light columns that hung from the airship. 

His brow furrows. He had the choice of freeing Wooyoung, but at the risk of the drake wreaking more havoc than he already had. Nevertheless, the vegetation of Ell'yrin was, to some degree, toxic, feeding off the acetic soil of the extinct volcano. If Wooyoung continued to attack his restraints, the air would become too contaminated to breathe. Hongjoong lands on the slate surface of the ground and hurries towards Wooyoung. "Ryujin, stay away from him!" he orders, blocking her path with a few tendrils of elongated moss as she tries to approach him once more. 

"I 'ad no clue 'e would'a been this angry!" She insists, the glowing rings surrounding and suspending her in the air lowering her down to his side. She jerks her bionic arm into place with a frown. "Is 'e all right?"

"Clearly not," Hongjoong drawls as Wooyoung glares down at him, pointed teeth bared in a grimace. 

"You damned tree—of course you'd be on the side of those pathetic, hellbegotten elves," Wooyoung spits, jerking against his restraints as they only tighten around his limbs, pinning him in place. His lips curl with revulsion. "Rubbing shoulders with them like they weren't the ones that destroyed your entire species—"

"All right, I can understand why you'd be mad about me bringin' up Queen Protasia, but that was uncalled for!" Ryujin suddenly snaps back, tapping a few screens that run along the surface of her rings and rising into the air, a dark look in her eyes. "You can badmouth me all ya want, Prince, but you do _not_ talk down on 'ongjoong like that!" Her hand drifts down to a geared handgun on her hip, only for a vine to curl around her wrist. Her pupilless gaze drifts back to Hongjoong, an anguished glimmer dancing within. 

"...all right, what the hell do you think you're doing?" 

A sharp crack echoes through the cavern, and both Hongjoong and Ryujin whip around in shock as Seonghwa breathes out a sigh and lowers his hand. Wooyoung's scaled cheek somehow darkens redder than his natural skin as he stares at the cavern wall, stunned. 

Seonghwa waves aside the smoke that wafted about them as he perches cautiously on the boughs of the tree entrapping Wooyoung, a disgruntled look on his features. "If you don't want to get slapped again, listen up," he states flatly. "Look. We were in danger, and these considerate people decided to help us, and even take us to a place where we could stay."

Hongjoong's eyes widen in astonishment as Wooyoung turns to glare at Seonghwa. "Who are you to judge me, outsider?" He snaps. "You know nothing about this place or these people."

Seonghwa rubs his temples with an irked exhale and plants his hand on his hip. "That's why, unlike you, I can look at this objectively. Look—not everyone and everything is out to get you. You have your reasons for how you act, but that isn't an excuse to be inconsiderate to everyone else." Before Wooyoung can spit out another retort, Seonghwa raises his hand once more, a warning glint in his eyes. "I've put up with your behaviour because you weren't harming people who couldn't defend themselves, but look at you now!"

Seonghwa gestures around the cavern as the pair of eel-people and selkies peep out of the water cautiously, and the sylphs emerge out of the walls. A few others cautiously stick their heads out of their domes to survey the damages around them. "Wooyoung, you're allowed to be angry. Probably in the right to be angry. But you're going to hurt innocent people. And you know what? From everything I've seen, if you're going to consciously harm people when you're angry, that makes you no better than the elves that you hate so much."

Wooyoung's eyes widen with shock, and Seonghwa shakes his head before carefully clambering down the branches of the tree with rather clumsy movements that did not at all befit the guise of an elf that he had taken on. Hongjoong can't help but smile wryly at the juxtaposition of the two scenarios that played out successively. He chuckles as Seonghwa loses his footing on a particularly slippery stretch of bark and topples to the ground with a graceless yell. 

Jongho zips forward, barely catching him in time before he could make a rather painful collision against the roots and rock that jutted out from the crack in the stone. Seonghwa grins up at him before standing on his own two feet and brushing the dirt and smoke from his clothes. 

"...ya really know 'ow to choose 'em, don'tcha, 'ongjoong," Ryujin mutters under her breath as she floats down to Hongjoong's side, an incredulous look plastered over her features. 

Hongjoong relaxes his grip on Wooyoung and slowly lowers the tree back into the crack in the ground, allowing the drake to disentangle himself and scurry away from the chasm. Hongjoong patiently stitches the earth shut with his eyes trained on it, and drops the wall by the infirmary as well. He huffs. "Believe me, Ryu, I'm equally as surprised as you are."

The sylphs sweep around them, rolling out the noxious vapours through cracks in the stratified rock face and clearing the air around them, while a few other creatures jump to adjust the pipelines. Hongjoong glances towards the infirmary, only to find Hyunjin running after San, who hops off the crag and immediately hurries to help the other sylphs purify the air. A slight grin crawls onto his face. "...these kids really can't listen to a single thing, can they," he huffs.

As Wooyoung stumbles off to the slab of rock that sealed the chamber away from the labyrinth of tunnels, Ryujin eyes his back warily. "...is it really a good idea t' let 'im wander off by 'imself?" 

"If he gets lost, then I'll find him," Hongjoong assures. "Let him have some time to cool his head." 

Ryujin snorts. " _When_ 'e gets lost, y'can go gather 'im back before 'e walks int' the mountain sprite nursery an' gets shocked t' death."

Hongjoong dignifies her words with a shake of his head as his gaze drifts over to Seonghwa and Jongho. They pad across the mended earth to him and Ryujin, and Seonghwa looks between them with concern curving his lips into a frown and creasing a line against his forehead. "Are you two okay?" He faces Ryujin, eyes searching for any sign of injury. "He didn't hurt you, did he?"

She chuckles. "Don'tcha worry your 'an'some little 'ead over it, Seonghwa. If I couldn't 'andle a few moody people, I would'a gone mad by now."

Hongjoong glances up just in time to catch the wyvern Hyunjin plucking San out of the sky and flying him back down to the infirmary. He purses his lips. "In any case, if he doesn't return within an hour, let me know. I have to go check on—"

"No you don't." 

Hongjoong stops in his tracks and turns to cast a dubious look at Seonghwa. "I'm sorry?"

Seonghwa wrings his wrist, hesitation colouring his eyes before he nods decisively to himself and meets Hongjoong's eyes. "It's getting too risky for me to be here blindly," he says plainly. "I was putting it off...but now I think that you owe me an explanation."

* * *

  
The pointed tip of a pen scratches through parchment and into glass with a feeble screech. Yeosang breathes out a frustrated sigh and crumples the parchment into a ball, tossing it into the incinerator. His eyes drift over to where Yeonjun sleeps on his bedcushions, obscured by the drapery that hung delicately from the ceiling. The elf had been adamant against resting there, but this time Yeosang settled on playing the stubborn card. There was no other appropriate sleeping area in the chambers since much of the furniture was more for ostentation than function; a dreadful oversight in his opinion. 

Yeosang frowns and rises to his feet to grab a few vials of the purplish narcotic from the safe, padding over to the sleeping area to leave it just outside the curtains for Yeonjun along with a sterilized needle. He quietly slips to the door, so as not to awaken the elf, and strips off the talisman. He rests his shoulder against the metallic door before slamming his weight against it. His jaw tightens when it refuses to open, and he draws back a fraction before shouldering the door again.

"...I wouldn't keep doing that if I was you, Imperial Prince Grantz."

Yeosang nearly falls flat on his face as the doors suddenly swing back to reveal an elf clad in the armour of the Imperial Mages, although his robes were white, as opposed to the customary navy. Yeosang quickly catches himself against the door post, and straightens upright with a frown. He absently dusts off his apple green sleeve and rests his hand on his hip, his gaze trailing cautiously over the grey-skinned elf. Although Imperial Mage etiquette strictly rejected non-uniform articles, this mage’s ears were pierced through with protruding, metal spikes. It was nearly enough to make Yeosang wince. His eyes widen as they come to a rest on the concubines’ sigil emblazoned onto his hand, the lines a sleek gold as opposed to black. 

Of course he avoided the White Horn district of mages, more out of resentment than anything else, and had never seen war mages outside of ceremonies, much less in close proximity. To say the least, he couldn’t quite wrap his head around why one would be permitted to approach him. His brow furrows and he tilts his head to meet the mage's pale blue eyes with a frown. "...what business do you have with me?"

The tall mage offers him a compulsory bow and, to his surprise a gracious smile. Yeosang, caught off guard, just stares. The mage draws a line through the air with his fingertip to pull a pair of silver rods from the compartment that opens up. He tugs the rods apart, and a holographic screen spreads open between them like a glowing, white scroll. The mage clears his throat, and scans the screen. 

“Imperial Crown Prince Yeosang Grantz is summoned, by authorization of the Assembly of Thrones and the Imperial Crown, to appear in the Court of Houses. Attendance is imperative, and failure to comply may be received as hostility towards the Empire. Upon the occurrence of any defiance, proper disciplinary action will be promptly enforced. The Court of Houses solemnly awaits the affirmation of the Imperial Crown Prince...Maris, could they _get_ any more pretentious?”

The ugly, seething disgust roiling in Yeosang’s gut melts into astonishment as he stares at the mage, who eyes the screen with a look of incredulity printed over his features. Yeosang’s lips part as the mage lays the screen out towards him, with an apologetic smile. “I beg your pardon, Imperial Prince Grantz,” he quickly rectifies. “Speaking out of turn like that—General Xyrion has said on more than one occasion that I have a mouth that gets me into trouble.” His lips stretch into an amused smirk.

Yeosang’s eyes drift between the mage and the screen and his mouth presses into a thin line. It was highly unlikely that the mage hadn’t noticed Yeonjun’s presence, and all the more unlikely that he was unaware of the fact that Yeonjun was not supposed to be here. In spite of that crucial piece of information, he had yet to make any comment, or show any hostility. If anything, that only piqued Yeosang’s wariness all the more. 

“...since when has the Court of Houses shown any interest in me?” he can’t help but ask almost monotonously, keeping his gaze trained on that of the grey elf. “What do they intend to do?”

The mage smiles. “I’m only a lowly messenger, Imperial Prince Grantz,” he responds. “What the Court of Houses wants with you isn’t something I know...if you’ll pardon me for saying so.” 

Yeosang’s lip curls. Perhaps they knew of Yeonjun’s presence, and intended to take him back while Yeosang was away. It was a risky gamble; Yeosang was loath to make an appearance for them to begin with, but if he didn’t, then they might find Yeonjun anyway when they came to make good of the flowery threat written into the, as the mage had commented, pretentious words of the summons. He bites the corner of his lip until the faintly salty tang of metal rests on his tongue. 

“...you’re pardoned, but only if you pardon me for what I’m about to do,” Yeosang responds, and the mage tilts his head curiously. Yeosang spits the blood from his split lip onto the screen. Upon contact, the message dissipates, and the blood vaporizes. Yeosang wipes the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, raising his head disdainfully. 

An amused laugh trickles from the lips of the mage. “Oh, you’re certainly an interesting one, Imperial Prince Grantz.” He presses the cylinders together, and tucks them away in his compartment once more. 

“I could say the same about you,” Yeosang replies simply, crossing his arms loosely over his chest. “Why did they send a war mage to deliver a simple message? Isn’t that task too menial for someone of your prestige?”

The mage raises his hands indifferently. “Prestige only matters so I can live a comfortable life. I’ve been offered an amount I couldn’t refuse for this errand, and I don’t know why, but it doesn’t matter to me either. I’ll do what I’m told for the right price.” His features settle into an increasingly redundant smile. 

A wry chuckle escapes Yeosang's lips. "I suppose I can't argue with that." He glances back into his quarters. "Did the Court of Houses at the very least tell you when they want me to appear?"

"Immediately, Imperial Prince Grantz."

A sigh passes Yeosang's lips and he pulls from his harness the silver card, waving it before the mage. "Please seal my quarters so that it's inaccessible to anyone. And remove it when I return." A knowing smile creeps onto the corners of his lips. "...and name your price."

Within seconds of the barrier being cast, he allows the mage to escort him through the halls, down the levitating floors, until they reach the grand, gilt doors of the antiquated throne room. Yeosang despised the place; despised the puppetry of the Crown that was so easily manipulated on strings by the Assembly of Thrones. Even those who wallowed in the slums of the Imperial city knew that the Crown was nothing but a sham, and the lords and ladies of the Assembly and the other regions of the Empire gladly clawed for every shred of hedonistic indulgence at the expense of the poor, the interspecies, and other creatures that inhabited the land. 

Some interspecies elves such as Jongho were fortunate enough to be abandoned at the temple, where they were raised by the adherents of Maris without prejudice. It never saved Jongho from derision by the common populace, but it allowed him to live as normal a life as he possibly could. The less fortunate ones were thrown to the scrapyards, tormented for fun, or merely abandoned if luck was on their side. Yeosang, for all his bitterness at being born aberrant, took selfish relief in the fact that he was born a pureblooded elf. 

As the doors of the throne room slide open at the sense of their presence, Yeosang strides ahead without announcement or warning, fighting down the goosebumps that rise on his skin as numerous pairs of eyes fixate him. The circular room was roofed by fan vaults whose panels depicted the ancient legend of Maris and the birth of the Empire. They arched gracefully over pillared walls that surround the circular row of extravagant thrones and a table of polished wood. Yeosang winces. If he were still on Earth, he may have paralleled it to a circus ring where he was but a trained animal expected to execute a fanciful trick or two whilst being spectated for sport. 

His scathing gaze comes to a rest on the two figures at the back centre of the room, raised above the rest by a stone platform, and haloed by a grand tapestry that depicted the Imperial Triquetra in shimmering gold. Yeosang’s hand drifts up to the scar that had burnt away his birthmark unconsciously, and his lips pull into a tight frown. He hears the mage come to a stop just behind him, and the soft brush of his robes against the glowing floor as he sweeps into a bow. “Your Imperial Majesties, my Lords and Ladies: the Imperial Crown Prince Yeosang Grantz.” 

“Your duty has been acknowledged.”

Yeosang can’t bear to meet the eyes of the two monarchs. He never knew what played in their minds, and it intimidated him just as much as it alienated him. It hadn’t been mistreatment by any means. Yeosang knew full well he was privileged, from his finances to his environment, to his status, to his species itself; at its fundamentals, he had everything that he needed and more. And yet, when it came to parental figures, there was a pitiful vacancy. If anything, the closest he had ever had to such a thing was Hongjoong.

Hongjoong was the one that wove the mesmerizing tales of groves where flowers bloomed no matter the season, where the creatures lived in an idyllic harmony and music seemed to drift from the very branches of the trees, all for the sake of sending him and Yunho to sleep. It was Hongjoong who ensured that they always received at least one heartfelt gift when they celebrated milestones. Hongjoong tended to their scrapes and bruises whenever they climbed structures they weren’t supposed to and then fell. Hongjoong, who prepared their favourite teas and snacks to staunch their childish tears. Hongjoong encouraged Yunho’s art of the bow and arrow when he had become dreadfully farsighted, and gladly aided Yeosang himself with the rifle and blade.

He scolded them as much as he guided them, taught them of societal hierarchies, prejudice, and shadowed history. It was Hongjoong who placed their every interest before his own, and refused to worry them with his own woes. It was Hongjoong who wept bitterly at night without the knowledge that Yeosang had been watching when he discovered that Yunho was an anomaly, destined to become an Imperial Concubine. It was Hongjoong who dosed them both on poisons to protect them; Hongjoong who taught them to be calculative and never to wear their emotions on their sleeves. It was Hongjoong who ensured they kept their guards up around everyone, who kept them open-eyed and tight-lipped: it was Hongjoong who had raised them. 

And perhaps it was Maris’ blessing that he and Yunho had such a figure in their lives to fill the chasm left by their stony progenitors. They had never felt the absence of their parents because they had never felt their presence either, save under ceremonies and festivals, where public appearances were necessitated. Yeosang could only recall sitting on gaudy thrones with Hongjoong at his right hand and two complete strangers on his left. And yet, it was more than he could say for Yunho, who could never be seen around the Imperial family for public appearances ever since he had been transferred to the warhouses. 

It sufficed to say that Yeosang bore a spiteful opinion of the two elves on their flamboyant thrones, who may as well have been chained around the neck by the glittering crowns on their heads. 

He bows his head in swift greeting, obstinately refusing to spare more respects. The Court of Houses were already well aware that he was no model of subservience. It was almost insulting that they allowed him free reign of his own behaviour, as though he was nothing but a tiresome insect—dreadfully pesky, and easily disposable if they so wished to get rid of him. “What, if I may be so bold to ask, am I doing here?”

“Imperial Crown Prince Yeosang Grantz.” A maroon-skinned elf with a head of half-cropped, half-long hair and an austere mien slides open a holographic screen above the wooden table as she rises to her feet, evidently the appointed orator. “I see you have yet to improve your decorum.” 

“And you have yet to improve the Empire’s state of affairs, esteemed Lady of House Aenrath, Minister of Diplomacy,” Yeosang responds dryly, barely sparing her a glance. His silver gaze sweeps the tense surroundings with a mien of false calm. It had always been this way, a standoff of pretense and venomous words to claim supremacy over each other at the slightest blunder. “Have you run after the Minister of Defense yet, Lady Aenrath? I declare it must be an agreeable notion, since your concept of diplomacy is war.” 

It was incredibly childish, and yet a ruffle of burning satisfaction flutters in Yeosang’s throat as he catches her stiffening at his words, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly. Behind him, Yeosang can hear the mage that had escorted him muffling an entertained snort, and he resists the visceral urge to roll his eyes in a throne room under the image of Maris that looked down on him. A little expression of acrimony was nothing in comparison to the atrocities that had been established in this room, but he still had a few shards of reverence left in his cynical bones. 

"Imperial Prince Grantz, you are among the Court of Houses. Your respect is demanded."

"My respect is always demanded, but scarcely earned, Lady Aenrath."

“Enough.”

Yeosang tenses at the flinty voice that echoes through the room, slicing through the thick atmosphere like a knife through butter although it had barely been raised at all. His gaze flickers up to the elf on the platform and he resists the urge to shrink back under the unfeeling, silver stare that too closely resembled his own. The Emperor was an elf of tall stature with rosy skin that resembled Yunho’s, and long, platinum hair like his own. He had an impressively broad build, and enough presence to command respect. Yet to Yeosang, he had fallen; fallen to the depraved grasp of the aristocracy that held in their hands more political power than he could ever hope to seize without throwing the Empire into peril. Yeosang’s lips press into a thin line and he nods his head in acquiescence as his father speaks. 

“Let us not prolong our conclave with needless quarrelling. This is a council. Lady Aenrath, Imperial Prince Grantz, you are expected to behave with decency.” 

Nods of agreement follow his words, and Yeosang breathes out an exhausted sigh, overcoming the instinct to bite back with a sharp rebuttal. It had been mere minutes since he had set foot in this contemptible room, and he already felt weariness coursing through his veins like blood. He rests his weight on one leg and turns back to the minister of diplomacy with a frown. “Well then let’s not delay,” he agrees readily. Surely, the worst they could do was accuse him of treason and have him tortured to within an inch of his life. 

A foreboding glint of smugness enters the elf’s eyes as she projects an enlarged duplicate of her screen for the Court to witness. Yeosang’s eyes trail over the letters that draw over the screen, and the seals of the representatives of the central aristocratic houses as well as the Imperial Triquetra emblazoned irremovable. His jaw clenches and his eyes widen. He can almost feel his head grow colder as the blood drains from his face.

“The Imperial Crown hereby declares its abdication. The Imperial Crown Prince Yeosang Grantz, as the written and sealed successor to the throne of the Elven Empire, will take the role of monarch. This transfer of power has been discussed with and approved by the Assembly of Thrones, and the Emperor and Empress Grantz.” Her eyes narrow with an almost sadistic glee obscured by the dutiful drone of her voice. 

“The coronation will take place in a fortnight, on the eve when the supermoon Havilah eclipses T’shuvah, succeeding the festivities of the anniversary of the Great Reckoning. As it has been written in the stones of the Temple of the divine Maris, the Crown shall be transferred in blood. The designated blood will be the Great Reckoning execution of the fallen drake monarch, Queen Protasia.”

“You can’t do that!” Before Yeosang can muffle himself, the words burst from his throat unbidden. He stares at her, horror welling in his gut and shock colouring his gaze. The moment the words settle in the air, the eyes of the court scrutinize him critically, and a low rumble echoes through the throne room as murmurs rise from the Assembly like wind through a canopy of leaves. 

“Be silent.” With the simple words from his father, the disapproving whispers fade into thick silence. Yeosang frowns, stifled by both the decree and the weight of their stares.

The minister of diplomacy raises her attention deliberately from her screen to him, as though to savour the perturbation she had planted on his shoulders. Her thin lips finally curve into an unsympathetic smile. “Imperial Prince Grantz,” she croons, “this has been a matter of discussion and preparation for months. The document has been sealed in blood.” She pulls back the screen and it glitches out of existence. “Surely you’ve studied the bare minimum in order to understand that since the dawn of the Empire, if a pact has been sealed in blood, it becomes unretractable.” 

Yeosang draws in a slow breath to calm himself as her words crawl into his ears like spiders and send a spike of fury through his brain. He bites the inside of his cheek and raises himself straight, squaring his shoulders. At the worst, he could always make an attempt at escaping to avoid become their next puppet monarch. Of course, it would be troublesome to evade all the guards, and he would indubitably have to bring Yeonjun with him lest his escape be pinned on the elf again. Nevertheless, even if they did manage to escape, it wouldn't halt the execution. The thought sits heavily in the corner of Yeosang's mind. He grits his teeth and sighs. For the time being, he would play meek—he needed to minimalize their suspicions on himself as much as possible to buy time to form a plan. “...I understand.”

"Moreover!" 

His brow knits as she speaks up again. He could almost feel the gazes of the other members of the Assembly peeling away at his skin, and that of his parents eyeing him with a gelid indifference, but he balls his hand into a taut fist and relaxes himself. The last thing he wanted to do was give anyone the satisfaction of spectating his distress. He still had some shred of pride left within him, and he would not so readily relinquish it. 

One of the members of the Assembly presses a familiar, silver double-rod into the maroon elf’s hand. She pulls open the screen and clears her throat. “By order of Xyrion, Lord of House El’ra, Imperial Minister of Defence, and Commanding General of the Imperial Army, the charge of safeguarding the Imperial Crown Prince Yeosang Grantz until his coronation is entrusted to War Mage Yanan.”

“It would be my honour, Lady Aenrath.”

A sinking feeling tugs at Yeosang’s chest as he slowly turns to stare at the grey mage behind him, just in time to catch him lowering into a graceful bow. He should have known better than to assume they’d let him do whatever his heart desired at such a crucial hour. If it was a war mage that was assigned to guard him, he had no hope of escape, and even if he did stand a fighting chance, he wouldn’t be able to escape alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is slightly shorter than the others, but it was so packed that trying to fit any more in would just be too much ^^;;  
> I'm sure that now there are many many more questions that need to be answered, but I promise that there will at least be a few explanations in the coming chapter! Please look forward to it~  
> Thank you very much for taking the time out of your day to read, and I do hope you enjoyed!  
> I'll see you in the next chapter~


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